


Accidental Genius, Intentional Stupidity

by AgentFontySeven



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adult Humor, Amputation, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Clean Him, Crude Humor, Drinking, Explicit Language, Flashbacks, Foul-Mouthed Australians, Gen, Gore, Graphic Violence, He Smelly, Junkrat Curses Like A Sailor, Junkrat Gets a Bath, More tags to be added, guys being dudes, hydrophobia, yeah I got nothin' right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentFontySeven/pseuds/AgentFontySeven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Overwatch team is called on to resolve a hostage situation with explosive consequences, but they get a bit more than they bargained for when, desperate for a little more added protection, Junkrat makes them an offer they can't refuse. Now stuck with two new teammates they never wanted, our heroes are left to wonder if it's even worth the headache of keeping the two Aussie outlaws around, or if they're better off just leaving them for Talon to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Their Typical Gig

 Winston let out a grunt as he plopped himself heavily into the tractor tire that served as his computer chair, letting his body sink into it’s comforting embrace and trying to ignore how the old rubber creaked unhappily under his weight. He shot the camera above his workstation a peremptory glance, as if warning Athena not to comment on his fitness regimen – or lack thereof, as the case may be. He loved that A.I. to death, but he wasn’t in the mood to be nagged at after the day he’d had.

 Several months had passed since Reaper’s attack on his old hideout, since the call had gone out to all of the old Overwatch members. Only a few were left to respond to the call, but respond they did. He’d had to rush to find a new location where they could set up a new base of operations, one that was well out of sight of the prying eyes of the world, both the good and the evil. After all, Overwatch activity was still officially illegal. They couldn’t give the outward appearance of being an organized unit again. They weren’t the darlings of the world anymore. They were vigilantes now.

 Mercy was one of the first to respond to the call, second only to Tracer, of course. She’d been as helpful as ever in relocating Winston and Athena to a safe place – and in finding the new location for Overwatch to gather. She’d managed to pull some strings with an old friend, who secured for them a location just outside of Geneva. Appropriate, Winston had thought, that their new base of operations should be located just next door to the city whose name was synonymous with peace and order.

 Still, it had taken some time to get everything settled, and, as of today, that work was finally done. The last security systems had just been activated, the last of the paint had dried, and the new recruits had been briefed. All in all, it was more work than Winston was used to doing in a day, and he was certainly glad it was over. Now they could focus their time and energy on more important matters. Namely, Talon.

 Of course, it would have been nice of the terrorist organization to give the lot of them a moment to rest before causing trouble. Winston had barely reached over to grab one of his bananas before the screens in front of him lit up with an urgent alert. He took a moment to stare longingly down at the fruit in his hand before letting out a sigh and setting it aside.

 “What is it, Athena? What’s going on?” the ape rumbled out, leaning forward and using a knuckle to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose so he could get a better look. The flashing red alert on the screen vanished, replaced by several windows opening up at once; a video of a live Chinese news report playing footage of a skyscraper as seen from a helicopter, an aerial map of a densely urban area, and a constantly updating feed of reports from whatever local authorities were on the scene, handily translated into English.

 “There are reports of a hostage situation in the financial district of Shanghai. No demands have been made yet.” came the smooth female voice of Athena through the speakers scattered across the laboratory. Winston furrowed his brows in thought.

 “Hostage situation? Could it be Talon operatives?” he asked, though mostly to himself. As if in answer, a new window popped up on his screen. It looked to be security camera footage from inside the building. At first, all he saw was an empty hallway. Then, a figure hobbled into view; it was a man, tall and scrawny, wearing little more than a pair of tattered, patched-up shorts and a chest harness full of explosives. His hair was a wild blonde blaze, complete with thin wisps of smoke trailing from the spikey tips.

 The man stopped in his seemingly aimless scramble down the hall, turning suddenly to stare directly up at the camera. Then, in a show of dexterity and athleticism one wouldn’t normally attribute to someone with a ramshackle peg of a prosthetic leg, he leapt up at the camera, clinging to some unseen fixture on the wall as he grinned an unmistakable, manic grin just in front of the lens. Winston could practically hear the man’s crazed giggling as he drew back a rusted mechanical fist. An instant later, the video was drowned in static.

 “Junkrat…” the ape grumbled through his teeth, bringing up a hand to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. Even through the grime and soot covering the Junker’s face – or perhaps even _because_ of it – there was no mistaking the psychotic scavenger. And, what was worse, he knew that anywhere Junkrat went, his ‘buddy’ Roadhog was sure to follow. Winston let out a reluctant groan. He really didn’t have time to play around with those two idiots, but the prospect of them being left to detonate an entire office building in one of the most densely-populated areas on Earth wasn’t something he could live with.

 “Prepare the dropship and alert the team. We’ve got to get moving before those two get someone killed.”

 

* * *

 

 

Though the former members of Overwatch were newly reorganized, a team was quickly assembled and sent out to contain the situation in Shanghai. The old dropship, though it had just undergone a slew of repairs and needed to be disguised as a normal commercial vehicle to boot, made quick work of the trip from Switzerland to China. On board was a modest team of six; Winston, Tracer, Torbjörn, McCree, Mercy, and Mei. Soldier 76 didn’t want the rookies going out on a mission like this without a proper briefing, so it was something of a ‘veterans-only’ party. Tracer seemed positively giddy at the prospect of going out on a proper mission with the old crew, as evidence by her lively bouncing around the cabin of the ship. She eventually paused in her bouncing for a moment to settle into the seat next to Winston, giving the gorilla a cheery smile.

 “Isn’t this exciting! It feels so good to be heading off to a mission together with everyone, just like the good old days!” she chirped out, swinging her legs back and forth under her seat like a little girl who’d just been told she could go to the candy store. Winston wasn’t nearly as chipper about the whole thing, merely sitting there with his brow furrowed, staring intently down at the floor panels as if they were supposed to reveal some great mystery of the universe if only he looked at them hard enough.

 “I’m not sure ‘exciting’ is the word I’d use. This whole situation feels off. I can’t figure out why Junkrat and Roadhog would target a place like this.”

 Tracer’s grin faded into a contemplative pout, her brows knitting together in thought.

 “Well… Does this place have anything the Junkers would normally steal? Money? Gold? A lifetime supply of expresso beans?”

 Winston answered with a small shake of his head.

 “No, it’s just the home office of some pharmaceutical firm. There’s not enough money on-site for them to bother striking this target over any number of banks in the area, and this company doesn’t keep any of their products there either, so it’s not drugs they’re after. The most they’ll find in there are cubicles and paperwork, neither of which will do those two any good. It doesn’t seem to make any sense…”

 At that, Torbjörn could be heard letting out a sharp bark of a laugh.

 “Since when did those two do anything that made any damn sense?” the old dwarf commented wryly. Winston let out a sigh at that, but gave a small nod of agreement. He supposed he was right. Logic was never the two Junkers’ strong suit. He should stop worrying about the ‘why’s of the situation for once and just focus on trying to stop it with as little bloodshed as possible.

 

* * *

 

 

 They arrived soon enough, landing atop a shorter building a few blocks down from the skyscraper in question. Luckily there seemed to be so much attention focused on the unfolding hostage situation that no one seemed to notice the small drop ship land and take off again. Winston hurried over to the edge of the building, peering up through the heavy afternoon smog to try to get an idea of what was going on up there. Police cars surrounded the building, their lights flashing around the base like a ring of Christmas lights. He could see several helicopters hovering around the upper floors. One belonged to a local news agency, another belonged to the police, but the third…

 “Talon…” Winston growled under his breath, instantly recognizing the black gunship of the terrorist organization even as it ducked behind the building.

 “What’re _they_ doing here?!” Tracer called out in surprise, dashing over to Winston’s side. “I thought this was one of the Junkers’ gigs! You don’t think they’re working together, do you?”

 Winston let a primal growl rumble in his throat at that suggestion. The Junkers were bad enough on their own, but if they’d teamed up with Talon…

 “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

 The ape gave a slight jolt of surprise at the gruff assurance. He glanced over his shoulder, catching McCree standing behind him as he shot the skyscraper a hard stare. He pulled the cigar from his lips and, after knocking the ashes from the tip, used it to point about halfway up the structure. Winston followed the gesture with his eyes, adjusting his glasses until he could see what the gunslinger was referring to. He soon spotted it; a group of black uniformed men rappelling over from the adjacent building on freshly-sunk grapples.

 “They ain’t got in yet. Junkrat’s been in there for, what? Good hour or so? If they was workin’ with the Junkers, they’d have been in there already, and they’d have used the same entrance. I reckon they don’t even know how that fool got in themselves.”

 Well, this certainly changed things. While the Junkers didn’t work on anything close to logic, Talon was a different story. What could this building be holding that would attract both groups independently of one another? More importantly, what kind of havoc could those two wreak independent of one another? That thought seemed to light a fire inside Winston, and he instantly led the advance towards the building.

 

* * *

 

 

 Getting in seemed a bit trickier than any of them had given thought to. They wanted to get in undetected if at all possible, but the dense ring of police and spectators was making that next to impossible. It was only by chance that, as they moved to flank around the other side of the skyscraper, Mei caught sight of a rather familiar bit of graffiti on the wall of a passing alleyway. It was a rather unsettling-looking smiley face, its bulging eyes crossed out with large X’s. A brief moment of investigation found what that tag was there to mark; the lid of a nearby dumpster was laying haphazardly over a large hole in the concrete, a hole made just large enough that a certain pudgy bodyguard could squeeze his way down. Well, at least they solved the mystery of how the Junkers got in. They’d also solved the mystery of how _they’d_ get in.

 The tunnel, though it looked as though it could collapse under the weight of the street above at any moment, made for a quick and fairly direct way into the building. They emerged soon enough into some sort of basement level, but despite having finally gotten inside, it was a rather unpleasant sight that greeted them. There were packs of explosives littered all around, taped to walls and even a few fixed to the ceiling, bright yellow detonation cord stretched out between them like a hastily constructed spider web of potential destruction. Tracer just about shat a brick when she popped up out of the hole in the floor and saw it all.

 “Cor blimey! He’s got this place set to blow already!” she squeaked out, feeling just a tad less confident than she’d been a moment ago. Junkrat by himself wasn’t even close to intimidating – hell, you could probably knock him flat on his arse with one good punch if only you got close enough to pull it off – it was his little ‘hobby’ that made fighting him such an frightening prospect.

 Winston vaulted himself out of the hole in the floor, hoisting his tesla cannon up after him. He took but a moment to inspect the Junker’s handiwork before reaching a long arm back down into the hole.

 “Torbjörn, I need you to—“

 “Yeah, yeah, I know.” the dwarf began before the request was finished, grabbing hold of the gorilla’s hand and letting him hoist his squat form up into the basement. “I’m on defuse duty.”

 Winston gave the engineer a nod and a small smile of thanks before turning back to the hole to help the rest of the team up.

 “Alright, as for everyone else, I want you to split up and search the building for the Junkers. If you find any hostages, contact Mercy and have her attend to them.”

 And everyone did just that, carefully navigating through the web of detonation cord before running up the stairs to the building proper and going off into different directions. Tracer sped off ahead of everyone in a flash of blue, ending up halfway across the first floor before many even decided which way they wanted to go. It was likely as a result of this blinding speed that she was the first to spot anything meaningful through the glare of flashing lights coming from the police cars outside. She skidded to a stop when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye; a glint of steel, a shock of silver hair brushing against the ceiling, and, of course, the wide backside of an absolute mountain of a man as he lumbered down the hallway.

 Roadhog had just stepped into an open elevator at the end of the hall when Tracer spotted him. He turned, and though his eyes were obscured by the dark lenses of his gasmask, she knew he’d seen her. His grip tightened visibly on the handle of the large meat hook in his hand, but rather than toss it at the meddlesome woman who surely pursued him, he relaxed his grip and merely let the elevator doors start to close slowly before him. Tracer took a few steps forward, intent on closing the distance between the two of them and slip in before the doors could fully close, but thought better of it before she could break into a proper sprint. Trapping oneself in a tiny elevator with that hulk of a Junker Enforcer sounded like a one-way trip to spending the rest of the year in a full-body cast. Yeah, no, she’ll pass on that, thanks.

 She let the doors close and watched for a moment as the light above the elevator lazily counted up the floors. Once it didn’t look like it was about to stop anytime soon, she dashed over to a nearby door and rocketed up the stairs. As she ran, she held a finger lightly against the earpiece clipped around her right ear.

 “Winston, I’ve found Roadhog. He’s in the lift. Looks like he’s headed for the top floor. I’m on my way up there now.”

 There was a small crackle in her earpiece before she got a reply.

  _‘Alright. Keep an eye on him, but don’t engage on your own. We’ll be heading up there after you.’_

 Tracer couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at Winston’s cautionary warning.

 “Oh, c’mon, Love. Would I be that reckless?”

 The dead air over the radio was all the answer that was needed. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit.

 “Okay, okay. I’ll behave m’self. Promise!” And with that, she sprinted full pelt up the remainder of the stairs. Perhaps she shouldn’t have used the word ‘promise’ exactly. Oh well. She was sure the others would catch up to her before she got into any real trouble.

 

* * *

 

 

 Winston, understandably, wasn’t at all confident that Tracer would be keeping her promise either. He turned his attention for a moment towards Mei, McCree, and Mercy, who were all currently helping to untie several bound and gagged office workers that he’d found. It was strange… According to Mei, who had turned out to be a very handy translator for them, there had been only a handful of employees in the building that day due to some holiday, and all of them had been rounded up, tied up, and just dumped there in one of the conference rooms without supervision from either of their captors. It was almost as if they hadn’t been taken as hostages at all, but merely shoved to the side to get them out of the way. But if that was the case, then why?

 He was torn from his reverie when he received another message over their team radio.

_‘Winston. About these bombs…’_

 The gorilla could feel his heart sink at that, but he quickly answered back.

 “What’s wrong, Torbjörn? Can you not defuse them?”

  _‘Oh no, I can defuse them no problem. But they’re—‘_

 The rest of the message was drowned out in static as Winston felt a bolt of electricity surge through his entire body. He let out a roar of pain, his knees buckling underneath him as he collapsed to the ground. It took him a moment to steel himself against the intense burning pain continuously shooting through his nerves, but he soon found the strength to lift his head up off the floor and get his strong arms underneath himself. Before he could pick himself up and turn himself on whoever it was that had sunk a tazer in his back, something far more dangerous caught his eye. A dark mist was crawling up the hall in front of him, swirling upwards and taking the form of a man before his very eyes.

 “Well, if it isn’t Curious George come to stick his nose in someone else’s business once again.” Came a voice like death itself as Reaper’s body solidified from his ethereal form. The white of his skull-like mask was visible for but a moment, as a quick barrage of six gunshots rang out almost the instant he’d taken solid form. Reaper dispersed into mist once more just as McCree barreled out into the hall, already halfway through reloading his revolver to take another shot at the bastard. Mei dashed out a moment later, but turned her endothermic blaster in Winston’s direction instead. The gorilla snapped his eyes shut as a stream of frigid air roared overhead. The paralyzing electricity that had incapacitated him vanished suddenly, and he could hear a dull thud behind him. He was on his feet again in an instant, and he looked behind him to see the frozen form of a Talon agent lying there on his back, tazer rifle still held stiffly up in his frost-covered hands.

 He didn’t get the chance to thank Mei for the save, instead charging after where Reaper ought to have been. He was gone now, but he could still see the faint wisps of his dark mist as it curled around a nearby corner and vanished. Winston knew where he was headed, and it only served to increase his sense of urgency.

 “He’s heading upstairs! _Move!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

 Tracer had managed to make it all the way to the top floor of the skyscraper even before the elevator had gotten there. In fact – and she glanced up to check on this – Roadhog still had a good fifteen floors to go before he caught up to her. She smirked to herself. That would be plenty of time to find Junkrat if she was quick about it. And she always was.

 The layout of the top floor was fairly linear, there being virtually nothing but open hallway between the elevator and what she assumed was the CEO’s office. This was apparently one of those companies where the bloke in charge really wanted to make it seem like he was above everyone else – literally. That worked for Tracer. It narrowed down the places in which Junkrat could be hiding to pretty much nothing.

 She came to a stop in front of the door to the office. It was cracked open a few inches, tempting her to rush right in. She wasn’t quite _that_ reckless, though. She could already smell the heavy odor of smoke and gunpowder that always clung to the lanky Junker’s body. He was in there alright. She took a peek through the crack in the door to try and scope out the situation. The office lights were out, but light streamed in from the large windows that made up the far wall. The outside light cast the large desk and tall office chair in a dark silhouette, but left just about everything in shadow. She could just make out a few faint wisps of smoke rising from overtop the back of that chair. She couldn’t help but smirk to herself. Really? Was he seriously doing that whole cliché ‘casually sitting in the boss’s seat waiting for the heroes to show up’ thing? She would wager he was even doing his fair share of evil hand-wringing as he sat there and stared out the window.

 A quick glance over her shoulder told her that Roadhog was still a fair few floors down. Plenty of time. She dashed in, making a beeline for the desk before her target could react. In one fluid motion, she leapt onto the surface of the desk, spun the chair around, and aimed a pulse pistol right at the center of the Junker’s sooty forehead.

 “I’ve got ya now, ya crazy wank—“ Tracer was forced to abruptly cut off her declaration of victory, instead blinking down at the empty chair before her. Well, perhaps it wasn’t _completely_ empty. There was what looked like a bomb timer affixed with duct tape near the top of the chair, though it seemed to be missing something rather important – namely _explosives_. The faceplate of the timer was dangling off of it, held on only by a single flimsy screw. It seemed that someone had done a bit of quick rewiring to the device, creating an intentional short that produced the thin streams of smoke that she’d mistakenly thought had been coming from Junkrat’s perpetually smoldering hair.

 “Wot the—“ She was cut off again, this time by the feeling of the barrel of a grenade launcher being pressed against the small of her back. She drew in a sharp gasp, standing deathly still as the familiar mad giggling of her missing target rang in her ears.

 “Sorry there, _‘Love.’_ It was a good show y’put on… But I’m ‘fraid the party’s over.”


	2. Ulterior Motives

“Sorry there, _‘Love.’_ It was a good show y’put on… But I’m ‘fraid the party’s over.”

 Tracer grit her teeth as she felt the grenade launcher barrel against her back shake along with another burst of laughter from the mad Junker. To have been fooled so handily by someone who was widely considered to be a crazed idiot… Oh, she wouldn’t stand for that. Not one bit. Her chronal accelerator hummed as it charged up, and in an instant she was gone. The gear on Junkrat’s chest harness rattled as he gave a small jump of surprise.

 “Oi! Where’d ya go?!” he shouted, looking around feverishly for the woman who, just a moment before, he’d had solidly held up at gunpoint. His answer came in the form of a charging electrical hum and the cool feeling of a gun barrel being pressed against the back of his head.

 “Rotten luck, _‘Mate.’_ Looks like the game’s not over just yet!” Tracer snapped back triumphantly, though she struggled a bit to keep the trembling in her legs from being transferred up to the pulse pistol she held against his head. The bastard was so much taller than her when he stood straight up that she had to stand on her tippy toes in order to reach over the large spiked tire he wore on his back, and it was straining her already-overworked legs a bit. Luckily, her captive hadn’t seemed to notice.

 “A-alroight, alroight, _alroight!_ F-fair ‘nuff! Y-ya got me!” Junkrat stammered out with an undignified crack in his voice, instantly holding his hands high in the air in surrender. A smirk planted itself across Tracer’s lips as she watched the Junker’s earlier confidence instantly evaporate into his usual cowardice. Now _this_ was more like it!

 “L-look, maybe I _did_ come on a bit strong. Y’know, with the whole ‘threatenin’ ta blow ya up’ thing… _Totally_ my fault. But seriously, th-this is all jus’ a big misunderstanding, mate! I-I mean, can’t we talk ‘bout this?”

  Tracer opened her mouth to reply, but her witty comment caught in her throat as she spotted some movement from her captive. It wasn’t much, just a quick glance back over his shoulder. The problem was he wasn’t looking back at _her_. He instead glanced _past_ her, clear overtop her head, a wide grin erupting across his face in the split second he’d seen what he was looking for. Tracer’s eyes widened behind her visor. Oh, bloody hell, she’d forgotten about—

 “ _Huurkk!!_ ” was all she managed to choke out as she was suddenly jerked violently backward by the waist, her pistol clattering to the ground as it flew from her hand. Before she could register exactly what was happening, she felt herself slam against a wall of flesh, knocking the wind right out of her. An arm as thick as a tree trunk then pinned her there with such force that it knocked her chronal accelerator out of whack. There would be no zipping back through time to get out of this mess.

 “S’bout damn time ya got here! This li’l drongo was ‘bout ta blow me fuggin’ head off me shoulders! Some bodyguard _you’ve_ been lately!” Junkrat whined, stamping his peg leg against the ground with all the finesse of a five year old throwing a fit. Roadhog replied with what sounded to Tracer like wordless grumbling behind his mask. She could feel the deep rumbles of his voice reverberating through the bare chest her back was pinned against, the thought of which made her shudder in mild disgust. Junkrat had no trouble at all in understanding his partner-in-crime, and his entire body seemed to slump in exasperation as he rolled his eyes derisively.

 “Oh, right! Because it’s _my_ job to case a joint an’ make sure they got fast lifts! Y’know, if ya’d lost a few pounds it might not’a taken so damn long! I swear, I think I could hear those cables cryin’ from all’a way in here!”

 The response this time almost sounded like one of Winston’s low growls, though Tracer thought she could make out a single word in it this time: “ _Jamison…_ ”

 Junkrat let out a squeak at the implied threat, shying back a few steps and staring up at the Junker Enforcer with wide, terrified eyes.

 “S-sorry, sorry, sorry!!” he apologized frantically, a few fearful, nervous giggles bubbling up to the surface every now and then. “C-c’mon, mate, I didn’t mean it! Y-y’know stuff like that just slips out when I’m stressed!”

 And he did indeed look more stressed than usual, now that Tracer thought about it. Junkrat seemed a lot more twitchy than usual, constantly looking around as though some boogeyman was about to jump out and get him at any moment. She even noticed a fresh bald patch on the left side of his head that she was sure hadn’t been there before.

 “Would you two save your little lovers’ quarrel for later? It’s sweet an’ all, but I don’t exactly have all day here.” Tracer huffed impatiently. Junkrat shot her an unamused glare.

 “Oh, well aren’t we an impatient li’l fuck? Yer all in a hurry now that ya finally got here! D’ya know how damn long I was waitin’ fer you arseholes ta show up?! I mean, for Chrissake, lookit how _bored_ I got!” he retorted before hobbling over to the nearby wall. He flipped a switch, turning on the lights and revealing his ‘handiwork.’ Up on the ceiling was a huge array of explosives and detonation cord, all arranged in the shape of the grinning smiley face that was more or less the Junker’s signature. Even with the revelation of enough C5 looming over their heads to demolish half the block, not to mention the mystery of how he got it all up there in the first place, Tracer could do little more to respond to it all than stare at Junkrat like he was the most insane person on the planet – which, in all fairness, he may well have been.

 “W-wait… You were _waiting_ for us?” she asked in utter bewilderment. Junkrat gave yet another exasperated slump oh his shoulders, staring back at her as though _she_ were the mad one.

 “Well, _no shit_ , Sherlock! Why else would we ‘ave picked a place like this?! You think there’s anything in this bloody place _I_ want?! Fuck no! I only picked it because I knew _you_ lot wouldn’t be able to resist swoopin’ in ta save the day all hero-like when there’s a buncha damned _Suits_ in danger! But you took yer sweet-arse time, din’ ya? Any longer an’ them Talon cunts mighta beat ya here!”

 By the end of Junkrat’s little rant, Tracer couldn’t help but bite at her bottom lip, looking away as though she really ought to tell him something, but didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. The Junker noticed her expression almost immediately, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at her.

 “Oi, wot you over there gigglin’ ‘bout? Spit it out!” he demanded, instinctively raising his grenade launcher to aim her way, despite his colleague being in the line of fire. He got his answer, though not from his captive. Roadhog rumbled out another mask-muffled explanation, at which point Junkrat’s eyes snapped so wide open that Tracer thought his eyeballs might bulge clean out of his skull.

 “ _They’re already here?!!_ ” he shrieked, his pitch rising several octaves higher than even the scrappy madman’s voice sounded like it could handle. “You dickhead, why din’ ya say somethin’ _sooner?!!_ ”

 Roadhog’s reply was a casual shrug of his massive shoulders. Junkrat’s speech then devolved into small, feeble mumbles as he began pacing frantically back and forth, his one remaining flesh-and-blood hand moving up to clamp tightly around a tuft of singed hair.

 “No no no no no no _no!!_ It wasn’t s’posed ta happen like this! Th-they’re not s’posed ta _be_ here yet! How could they ‘ave gotten here so bloody fast?!”

 Another indecipherable grumble from Roadhog seemed to snap him out of his pacing long enough for him to shoot the larger man a wild-eyed glare.

 “Sh-shut up! I’m _not_ pullin’ me hair out again!” he snapped back immediately, yanking his hand down from his head as though to prove he wasn’t. Contrary to his objections, however, his hand came away with a decent sized chunk of golden frizz tangled up in his fingers.

 “Why’re you so worried about Talon if there’s nothing here you want? It’s not like they’re gonna take your loot out from under you. You haven’t _got_ any!” Tracer interjected finally, getting rather tired of all this whingeing. Junkrat’s attention darted back down to her once more, a none too pleased look on his face at the interruption.

 “You really are as dumb as dog shit, ain’t ya? An’ they say _I’ve_ got a few roos loose in the top paddock… I’d ‘ave thought it’d be obvious, after all ya heard already. Them bastards ain’t here for no loot. At least, not the kind you’re thinkin’ of. They came here for _me_ , which is why I lured _you_ lot out here. Believe it or not, I brought ya here ta _save_ me.”

 

* * *

 

 

 Winston rushed up flight after flight of stairs as fast as he could, just barely managing to keep the trailing wisps of black wraith in his sights at all times. His arms and legs ached, his lungs burned in his chest, but he kept going, refusing to stop. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he should have listened to Athena a bit more about staying on his fitness regimen, but the thought left as soon as it came. He had more important things to worry about than having an ‘I told you so’ moment with his AI companion.

 Reaper’s mist slipped under the door once they reached the top of the stairs, and Winston wasted no time. He didn’t even bother slowing down as he drove his shoulder into the door, knocking it clean off its hinges as he barreled into the room, raising his tesla cannon up at his side. The hooded mercenary had reconstituted into his physical form and was currently making his way down the wide hallway towards the lone door at the end, which was blocked by the massive form of Roadhog.

 Everything that followed happened so fast that Winston hardly had time to register it all. Reaper drew his Hellfire Shotguns, aiming their two deadly barrels in the Junker Enforcer’s direction. Roadhog stood his ground unflinchingly, his hook in one hand and his Scrapgun held up at the ready in the other. A voice rang out from behind the bodyguard, loud and grating but thankfully muffled by the large, thick doors it was trapped behind. Even so, Winston could just make out the endless string of rather colorful profanities being more or less shrieked out in a heavy Australian accent, clearly directed at Reaper. Then came a female’s voice, a familiar one, telling the first to shut up. The gorilla’s hand tightened around the grip of his tesla canon. Tracer was in there with that maniac, Junkrat.

 Even with the added urgency of Tracer’s compromised safety, Winston found himself torn. Just who was he supposed to shoot? Reaper or Roadhog? Which one was the greater danger at the moment? He couldn’t tell, and it seemed he may have been too late to make a decision in any case. Reaper had closed the gap between himself and his opponent, his fingers tightening around the triggers of his shotguns.

 “ _Die._ ” Hissed the dark fiend, which was all Winston needed to hear to take cover. He just managed to throw up his bubble shield and duck behind it before a shot rang out. A single shot. Well, that didn’t sound like Reaper’s style. He peeked under one of his forearms that he’d hidden his face behind, peering out into the hall. He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to see, but what he saw certainly wasn’t it.

 Roadhog had stood his ground, though his Scrapgun lay on the ground, streams of red leaking out from between the fingers of the hand he now held against his shoulder. Reaper stood before him, mere feet away, literally frozen in place at the edge of a frost-covered patch of floor. A glint of steel pulled Winston’s eyes upward, and he instantly spotted a small weather-modification drone as it floated above the scene, still blasting out frigid air. He spotted Mei dashing out of the elevator towards him, followed closely by Mercy and McCree. He deactivated his barrier unit and gave the climatologist a smile of gratitude.

 “That’s _two_ I owe you, Mei.”

 The comment brought a smile to her face.

 “I’ll let you pay me back later.” She replied before running off to retrieve her drone. Winston followed behind, aiming to join the others. Mercy was busy prying the shotguns out of Reaper’s frozen hands, hoping to give themselves something of an edge should the mercenary thaw before their business was done there. McCree was having something of a standoff with Roadhog, his Peacekeeper revolver ready at his hip and aiming at the injured Goliath that still stood stubbornly in front of the door. Winston joined at the gunslinger’s side, readying his tesla cannon for a bit of added protection in case the Junker Enforcer decided to make a move. He didn’t attack. Instead, he let out what sounded like a gruff sigh, raising his still-bleeding arm above his head in surrender. McCree arched a brow at the sudden change of heart.

 “Well… That was easier than I’d figured it’d be.” he mumbled in bewilderment, though he didn’t dare lower his firearm, lest it was a trick. Winston furrowed his brows in the same confusion as his friend. Why on Earth would Roadhog defend that room so vigorously against Reaper, yet surrender so easily against them? The answer came when the door he’d been defending opened up a crack, a flash of blue dashing out and positioning itself between the heroes and the Junker.

 “Wait! Don’t shoot!” Tracer called out, holding her hands out in front of her as though she could deflect the bullets by sheer force of will.

 “What in the hell?!” McCree exclaimed, lowering his revolver at once. Winston did the same and stared at his teammate in shock.

 “Tracer! What’s going on here?” he rumbled out, completely at a loss as to what was happening. The last he’d heard from the plucky Brit, she’d been in pursuit of Roadhog. To come up here and find her _defending_ him…

 “Look, it’s a really long story. Just hurry up and get in here – and call the dropship while you’re at it. We gotta get outta here before Mr. Edgy McEdgelord over there defrosts and comes after these guys again!”

 The others weren’t given the chance to argue before they were ushered into the office where Junkrat had been barricaded that entire time. Winston sent a quick radio message to Athena to call the dropship up to the top of the skyscraper before turning his attention fully on Tracer and the Junkers.

 “I’m afraid I’m going to need some sort of explanation here. Please, can one of you tell me what’s happened?”

 Much to Winston’s surprise, it was Junkrat who hobbled forward to explain things.

 “Alroight, ya better listen up good, ya great baboon, ‘cause I got a lot ta go through an’ not a lotta time ta go through it. Them Talon bastards are after somethin’ I dug up a while back, an’ they’ll do worse than kill me to get their hands on it.”

 “Wait a minute…” McCree interjected, holding up a peremptory hand. “You don’t mean that ‘treasure’ ya found out in the old ruins of the Australian Omnium?”

 Junkrat gave a small jolt of surprise at that, now turning a pair of wide hazel eyes on the gunslinger.

 “Wh-who told you that?! What do you know ‘bout it?!” he demanded, to which McCree merely shrugged his shoulders.

 “Can’t say I know too many specifics, but I’ve got a few contacts who hear about these things from time to time. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what it is you found in that ol’ pile of junk, but there’s a helluva lotta people who wanna get their hands on it, and none of them are the kind of people you want in charge of an Omnic _anything_.”

 Winston’s face took on a grim expression at this new information.

 “So, this thing you have is dangerous. Do you have it here with you?” he asked, to which Junkrat held out his arms as though inviting the primate to inspect his sparsely-clothed body.

 “An’ just where d’ya think I’d hide somethin’ like that? Under me donga? It’s too big ta be carryin’ around all’a time. I got it stashed away somewhere safe, but if them Talon fucks get a hold of me they’ll torture me half t’death ‘til I tell ‘em where it is. Now, I don’t wanna lose no more limbs if I can help it, an’ I’m bettin’ you lot don’t want that thingamawhatsit in Reaper’s hands, so I need _you_ ta keep me safe ‘til I can come up with some way ta get ‘em off m’arse.”

 Winston let out a sigh, closing his eyes as he took in all of the information he was given. Junkrat might not have been the brightest man on the planet, but he did have a decent assessment of his current predicament. He still wasn’t entirely sure what this ‘thingiemawhatsit’ was that the Junker had, but if Talon wanted it this badly, he was sure it wasn’t something they should have. It was a crazy proposition, but perhaps taking in this explosives-obsessed freak really was the best way to keep Talon from finding this mysterious object. He sure wasn’t looking forward to trying to explain _this_ one to Soldier 76, though.

 There was a rush of noise from outside, and Winston looked up in time to watch their dropship fly by, circle around, and come to a stop hovering just outside the window. He let out a small sigh of relief. At least it had gotten there before Reaper thawed out and went on the attack once more. He started towards the window, but paused as he remembered something rather important.

 “Wait, what about all of these explosives? We can’t just leave them here.” he said, gesturing up to the ceiling where Junkrat’s smiley face of destruction was still strung up. Tracer bit at her lip, looking up at them hopelessly.

 “There’s not enough time! Reaper will be back up to snuff any minute! The only one here fast enough to get it all down in time is me, but I have no clue how to disarm bombs! I’m more likely to blow us all up if I try!”

 “And Torbjörn probably hasn’t finished disarming the ones downstairs, either…” he grumbled out, trying to think of some way to get it all done quickly and safely. He was pulled from his brainstorming when he heard a bout of mad cackling behind him. He turned to find not only Junkrat laughing his usual manic laugh, but Mercy and McCree quietly snickering to themselves as well. He stared at the two of them in shock. This was no time to be laughing when there was enough explosives above their heads to bring down the entire building!

 Finally, it was Mei who stepped forward, marching her way up to the lanky Junker. She snatched his detonator from where it was clipped to his belt, earning her an indignant “Oi!” in the process. She then fiddled with it until the safety popped up from overtop the trigger button. Winston and Tracer both let out a panicked yelp, dashing forward to try to snatch the detonator away before the climatologist blew them all sky-high. They were too late. She pressed the button.

 Winston snapped his eyes shut and covered his head with his arms as a series of loud bangs erupted overhead, fully expecting to be crushed in the next instant. However, rather than chunks of concrete and shrapnel, something much lighter rained down over him. He cracked open one eye as if afraid he was dead already. Once he was sure he was still in the world of the living, he lowered his arms and glanced around. The entire office was now covered in red and gold streamers and confetti with bits of the colorful pieces of paper still floating down on them from above. The gorilla could do nothing but stare, left utterly speechless by yet another unexpected turn of events.

 “H-heh… Happy Year of the Rat..?” Junkrat giggled out nervously, looking between the others as though expecting someone, _anyone_ , to laugh. No one did. The only reaction he got was Mei forcefully shoving his spent detonator back at him, mumbling something angrily to herself in Chinese. It took a moment for Winston to finally find his voice again, but he quickly shook his head and brushed off the paper streamers once he did.

 “Wait… _What?_ ” was all he managed to get out. Mei turned back to him, still in a bit of a huff after Junkrat’s stupid antics.

 “Torbjörn said the bombs were fake. You must have missed it when that Talon agent shocked you.” she explained as she brushed the confetti out of her hair. Junkrat let out a nervous series of giggles, shrugging his shoulders.

 “Hoggie said you hero-types prolly wouldn’t help us if I _actually_ blew up the place, so I left all’a me ‘ _fun’_ toys behind. Had ta make due with these here party poppers. Shame, really. Woulda been one ripper of a firework show!”

 Winston opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of breaking glass, followed by a huge rush of wind and noise from the outside. He looked up to find that, while they’d been squabbling over the bombs, Roadhog had gone over and shattered one of the large windows with his hook, opening the way to the dropship. He grumbled lightly to himself, but didn’t bother trying to argue the point. It was becoming quite apparent that things weren’t going to go as he’d liked, no matter what he said. Instead, he merely gestured for everyone to make their way over to the ship.

 McCree went first, sprinting across the office and taking a running leap over to the dropship’s open rear bay. He made it with a few feet to spare, rolling to safety once aboard. Mercy was next, using her Valkyrie suit’s wings to glide over effortlessly. Winston offered Mei his arm and, once she accepted, scooped her up and used his booster to leap across the threshold. Finally, Tracer zipped over almost instantly in a flash of blue.

 Junkrat hobbled over to the window somewhat hesitantly, leaning out to take a peek down. Big mistake. He scrambled back, letting out a burst of nervous laughter.

 “L-long way down, ain’t it?” he asked rhetorically, though he still looked up at his companion as though expecting an answer. What he saw made the grin on his face fade instantly. He hadn’t noticed all of the blood running down Roadhog’s arm until just then.

 “Uhh… Mate, how ya gonna get over there like that? Ya ain’t exactly a roo, even in the best of health.” Junkrat questioned, a clear note of concern coming through in his voice. Roadhog gave no response. Well, no _verbal_ response, at least. The lanky Junker let out a yelp as he was suddenly snatched off his feet. Before he had time to argue, Roadhog drew his good arm back and launched his partner through the air and into the back of the dropship. Junkrat’s body slammed crosswise into McCree, sending the both of them tumbling until they collided with the far inside wall.

 Junkrat didn’t waste time trying to get his air-legs before he leapt up and made a mad dash back towards the open bay doors. Winston just barely managed to rush forward in time to grab the maniac by the back of his pants before he had the chance to jump. He pulled him back inside, though it took more effort than he ever thought he’d have to use with such a scrawny guy with two fake limbs. Junkrat, of course, fought tooth and nail the entire way.

 “ _No!!_ Let go’a me, ya great hairy fuckwad! I ain’t goin’ nowhere without Roadhog, Talon or not!” he shouted out as he thrashed with all his might, trying to break the hold he was now in. Winston managed to get him into something of a headlock before looking down at the man who Junkrat was throwing a full-blown fit over. The Junker Enforcer merely stared back, making sure he had the gorilla’s attention before making a very deliberate gesture towards the ground. Winston nodded, at which point Roadhog disappeared back into the building. This only served to make Junkrat thrash even harder, and it took both himself and McCree to pull him back in far enough for the dropship’s doors to close.

 “Hey, calm down! We’ll pick him up on the ground when we go to get Torbjörn!” he assured, though to little effect.

 “No! Fuck you! Fuck all’a you!!” he screamed, practically in hysterics at this point. “Yer gonna leave ‘im ta die! I know ya are! That’s what they _all_ try ta do; ta get me away from ‘im! I never shoulda trusted ya Overwatch cunts! Yer just as bad as th’ rest of ‘em! Mako! _Makooooo!!!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to mention that I'm being deliberately vague about what Junkrat's 'treasure' is. I haven't the foggiest idea what it might be, and all I have to go on are the minor hints dropped in-game. So, unless Blizzard comes out and tells us what he found, it won't be revealed in this story. Sorry!


	3. Can We (Not) Keep Him?

 Roadhog waited at the door of the office, listening as Junkrat screamed bloody murder from inside the dropship hovering outside. He waited until the bay door finally closed, cutting off the ungodly screeching before the hum of the engines faded off into the distance. He had to force his hand to unclench from around the handle of his hook, inwardly cursing at himself for letting that little bit of weakness show, even though no one was around to see it. It would be okay. This was part of the plan. Enemies or not, he knew Junkrat would be much safer in Overwatch’s hands than here with him… And Reaper. The younger man would scream and bitch about it, and Roadhog knew he was going to hear about this later, but it would all be sorted out in the end. Now he just had one last thing to sort out himself.

 He finally shoved his way past the office door and out into the hall, where Reaper’s frozen form still stood where they’d left him, though there was an ever-growing puddle of water gathered at his feet. He wouldn’t be standing there like that for much longer. The Junker Enforcer bent down to pick up his Scrapgun, trying not to grunt too loudly as the hellshot still embedded in his shoulder dug into his wound. He hoisted the massive weapon up and aimed it mere inches in front of Reaper’s face. He wasted no time in pulling the trigger.

 What blasted away from the wide barrel of his gun was not the satisfying rain of blood and bone that usually sprayed forth on those all-too-rare occasions when he got to shoot someone at point-blank range. Instead, a puff of black mist exploded away in a swirling torrent as pieces of scrap metal shot through it harmlessly. Roadhog lowered his weapon as he watched the mist slither away across the floor, disappearing down the far staircase. If only he had gotten out here a few seconds earlier…

 A gruff sigh rumbled out from behind his mask. Oh well. He just had to make sure he put that bastard out of his misery for good next time. For now, he had a ship to catch.

 

* * *

 

 

 It wasn’t more than a few minutes until Athena let the dropship lower to the ground once more, but those had to have been the longest few minutes of Winston’s life. He kept as firm a hold on Junkrat’s squirming body as he could, enduring everything from an armored elbow to the jaw to the kind of profane insults that would make a Navy Seal blush. The gorilla was really starting to wonder how Roadhog managed to deal with this man day in and day out. It was like trying to look after an unpredictable toddler – if said toddler was six and a half feet tall with a vest full of explosives strapped to his chest.

 They touched down soon enough atop one of the buildings nearby, near the alleyway where Junkrat’s tunnel had been hidden. As soon as they were out of the air, the lanky Junker managed to slip out of Winston’s grasp and dart over to the bay door.

 “Lemme outta here, ya fuckin’ drongos! _Let me out!!_ ” he shrieked, clawing desperately at the door with no success. Winston let out a sigh, shooting Mercy a pleading look.

 “I’m normally not one to suggest this, but… Can’t you sedate him or something? This is getting a little out of hand…” he asked somewhat sheepishly. Mercy merely arched a thin eyebrow.

 “Trust me, If I had any sedatives on me he’d be out cold by now.”

 Before Winston had a chance to reply, Junkrat suddenly stopped his fussing. The abruptness of it was enough to pull everyone’s full attention on him. The lanky Junker no longer clawed futilely at the window, but instead had his face pressed up against it.

 “Oi! What the hell is that?” he asked no one in particular, too confused to be distressed any longer, apparently. Just about everyone in the group crowded around the window, all trying to see what it was. There by the hole in the concrete lay what looked to be a large amorphous piñata, as all anyone could see was a bundle of red and gold paper strips. Then, quite unlike a piñata, it moved. The stout figure stood up, two long golden braids sticking out amongst the hectic tangle.

 “It’s Torbjörn!” Tracer shouted, unable to stifle a giggle at the engineer’s new ‘costume.’ Clearly he’d still been in the middle of dismantling the ‘bombs’ in the basement when they went off. Winston let out a sigh of relief before reaching over to hit the release on the door.

 “Watch how yer tossin’ me around, ya great bruiser!” Torbjörn could be heard shouting from under the mess of confetti, trying with some difficulty to rip the stuff off. A low growl could be heard behind him, and a large hand came down over the edge of the tunnel hole, Roadhog hoisting himself up and out a moment later.

 “Mako!” Junkrat called out, and in a burst of speed one really would have thought impossible for someone like him, he leapt out of the dropship and closed the distance between himself and his bodyguard before anyone could react. The smaller man scaled the other like a spider monkey, latching himself onto the Junker Enforcer’s non-injured arm.

 “Don’t you _ever_ pull that shit again, Hoggie!! If you die, I swear I’ll… I’ll… I’ll _fire_ ya, ya giant dickhead!!”

 Though Winston was sure he could sense Roadhog’s eyes rolling behind the dark lenses of his mask, the man made no attempt to shake off his new little arm decoration. He merely let him cling there as he made his way silently aboard the dropship.

 

* * *

 

 

 The ride back to base was certainly one of the more interesting ones any of them had made. Roadhog more or less took up one of the back corners and sat there, calm as could be. Even so, everyone kept their distance from the large brute, not wanting to do anything to pique his anger, despite his injured state. An angry Roadhog in an enclosed environment such as this was a dangerous beast indeed. Of course, not everyone stayed away. Mercy had made an attempt to treat his shoulder wound, but was warded away almost instantly by Junkrat. The scrawny Junker slipped in between her and his partner, hissing like a damned feral cat. Once she backed off, he hobbled back to Roadhog’s side.

 Winston could see Mercy’s nose scrunch up in utter distaste as the scavenger pulled out a dingy roll of bandages from the satchel at his hip – bandages that had most definitely been used before, by the looks of them – and proceeded to wrap the larger man’s wound himself. The doctor made one last attempt to intervene, but was waved away by Roadhog in such a way that only Junkrat couldn’t see the gesture. The message there was pretty clear; ‘Just humor him for now, you can treat it proper when he’s calmed down.’ She still didn’t like it, but Mercy backed down after that.

 When the ship finally touched down in the hangar of the Geneva base, Soldier 76 was already there and waiting. Winston couldn’t help but cringe as he caught the commander’s eye from the window. The man may have worn a mask, but the gorilla could still tell just by looking at him that he was not as pleased to meet these two new ‘recruits’ as he had the others. No, they were definitely going to get quite the talking to, he could feel it already.

 Everyone else could feel it, too, apparently. When the hatch opened, no one dared move. After a moment, Soldier 76 walked aboard himself, his hands folded neatly behind his back. He took a long hard glance around the cabin of the ship, watching as each one of his agents found something else to focus their attention on to avoid making eye-contact. Finally, his steely stare settled on the two Junkers. Junkrat – either not knowing any better or simply not caring – merely flashed the commander his signature grin, giving him a little wave with his fingers. Roadhog seemed neither perturbed nor particularly interested in what the man thought. After all, he too could silence a room with a hard enough stare. It wasn’t that impressive of a trick to him.

 “Winston.” Soldier 76 finally rumbled out long after the silence had grown uncomfortable. Winston knew the tone well, and instinctively tried to straighten his posture despite remaining on all fours.

“Look, Jack, I can explain—“ he began, but was cut off when the commander suddenly turned his gaze on him. The gorilla could sense the silent reprimand behind that glowing red visor. He stood straighter still, clearing his throat slightly before continuing.

 “I-I mean _Commander_ , er… _sir_ … I know this is rather abrupt, not to mention _extremely_ unorthodox, but I assure you that I wouldn’t have brought them here without your authorization unless it was _absolutely_ necessary.”

 Soldier 76 continued to stare at Winston even after he’d finished with his brief explanation. The ape could feel the sweat starting to bead on his forehead. He knew he wasn’t going to get out of this without some sort of punishment, but all this stalling would likely kill him from sheer stress before a real dressing-down could be administered! Finally, the commander responded not with words, but by holding out one of the hands he’d kept behind his back the whole time. From said hand dangled two pairs of handcuffs; one was rather normal in size, clearly made for humans, but the other pair was a much larger, much stronger set they’d used on the larger robots back during the first Omnic Crisis.

 “Find someplace to put them, somewhere secure. I don’t want them wandering around the base while we discuss the situation in full.” He ordered, handing the handcuffs off to Winston before turning to leave. Before he could, however, Mercy spoke up.

 “Wait a moment, Jack! Roadhog is injured. I’d like to treat his wound before you go locking them up for—“

 “Is it life-threatening?”

 The doctor was thrown off slightly by the sudden interruption, but soon regained her composure.

 “Well… _No_ , but—“

 “Then he can deal with it for a while longer.”

 And with that Soldier 76 left the ship, making it quite apparent that the matter was no longer up for discussion.

 

* * *

 

 

 Much to Winston’s surprise, neither Junkrat nor Roadhog put up a fight when they were asked to come along to the holding cell. Hell, the younger of the two even held out his wrists to be cuffed without an ounce of apprehension in his face. Their complete acceptance of the situation was enough to make the ape hesitate, at which Junkrat couldn’t help but flash an amused grin.

 “No worries, mate. I’ve busted outta tougher prisons than this before. I ain’t worried. ‘Sides, I’m thinkin’ this might just be the first one I’d sooner bust _into_ than try ta get away.”

 The way the Junker said it did nothing to soothe Winston’s unease, but he proceeded to cuff the two and lead them inside. The path to the holding cells led down into the basement levels. Mercy had been rather skeptical of the need for them, as Overwatch wasn’t in the habit of taking prisoners. However, Soldier 76 insisted on them, and one didn’t argue the point when he of all people insisted. Still, there was no doubt that even _he_ hadn’t expected to put them to use so soon.

 The cell was a modest one, bare walls and a single solid concrete slab for a bed, though there was enough room in there to keep three or four people in a pinch, Well, three or four _normal_ people. The room suddenly looked a lot smaller once Roadhog ducked his way in, seating himself at the edge of the padded concrete slab and damn near taking up the whole thing. Despite the now cramped accommodations, Junkrat hobbled in after his partner and managed to find a semi-free corner to seat himself. Winston gave the two an apologetic look as he made to unstrap the smaller man’s chest harness.

 “Sorry if it’s a little small. We, uhh… Only have the one cell.”

 “Oh, it’s no problem. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had ta share a cell with this big lug. Ya remember that, Hoggie? Good ol’ Cell 21! Good times, am I right, mate?” Junkrat replied with a manic giggle, giving his bodyguard a friendly jab in the side with his elbow. Roadhog merely grunted in reply, not seeming much in the mood for his companion’s banter at the moment. Winston decided it was probably best to finish disarming the two in silence.

 Once all of the weapons had been taken from the two Junkers, Winston backed out of the cell and activated the barrier that would keep them in. A transparent shimmer of blue not unlike Reinhardt’s shield flashed across the open wall of the cell. After giving the two men one last uneasy glance, Winston left the holding area and started the long walk up to the debriefing room.

 

* * *

 

 

 By the time Winston made his way back up to the debriefing room, he found that everyone else who had been on the last mission was already seated around the large table there, with Soldier 76 standing at the head. He ducked his head sheepishly as he came through, taking his usual seat between Tracer and Mercy. Tracer gave the ape a reassuring smile, but could offer little more before their commander got straight down to business.

 “Alright, now which one of you is going to tell me exactly what is going on here?” Soldier 76 rumbled out, his visor-obscured eyes scanning the faces in the room. He was met with the same sort of sudden shyness he’d observed on the dropship, no one willing to put their ass on the line for the sake of two insane, violent Junkers. Finally, it was McCree who decided to bite the bullet and get it over with.

 “As I understand it, that Junkrat boy found something out in the Australian Omnium that a lotta folks wanna get their hands on. I don’t rightly know what it is, but Talon seems to want it somethin’ fierce. That whole ‘hostage situation’ thing was just a rouse to get us out there to save his scrawny ass before Reaper got his claws on ‘im. He seemed pretty desperate, boss. We had to make a snap decision. We figured it’d be safer for everyone if we brought him back here rather than let him and his li’l ‘treasure’ fall into the hands of a bunch of terrorists.”

 Soldier 76 let his hands rest on the edge of the table, staring down between them as he thought over the new information he was given. There was a long moment of silence in which everyone could have been holding their breath, still quite unsure whether McCree’s explanation was enough to defuse the commander’s clear anger at the situation.

 “Does he have it on him?” he asked finally, never looking up to seek an answer from anyone in particular. McCree shook his head, chewing on the end of his cigar a bit.

 “Nah, he says he hid it somewhere. They’ll be after him for the location though, and they ain’t gonna be all too gentle in their questionin’.”

 Soldier 76 nodded knowingly before finally straightening up once more.

 “Alright, you made a good call. We’ll keep them here for now, but I want them under surveillance at all times. Keeping that maniac safe might be for the greater good, but I don’t want those two having full run of the b—“

 “Oh, so we can stay? Ripper! Now, where’s the tucker? I could eat the arse end out of a low flyin’ duck!”

 The sudden interruption of the commander’s orders was enough to pull an audible gasp from everyone present for multiple reasons. Firstly, one does not interrupt Soldier 76 mid-sentence. _Ever_. Secondly, the person doing the interrupting was supposed to be securely locked up in a cell downstairs. Soldier 76’s visor practically flared with quiet rage as he slowly turned to face the lanky scavenger who had somehow managed to materialize in the far corner, idly twirling his handcuffs around his index finger. Junkrat flashed the commander a wide grin, waving at him with his free hand.

 “What in the high holy hell are you doing up here?” the old soldier hissed out through tightly gritted teeth, his fists clenched so hard that they shook at his sides. The Junker, seemingly oblivious to his rage, replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

 “Got bored. Cozy as it is, there ain’t much ta do when yer locked up in a jail cell. I mean, I suggested the _obvious_ ; a good round of rough prison sex, but Hoggie wasn’t havin’ any of that talk, so I had no choice but to break out. Oh, speaking of which… Look, mate, if yer gonna use energy shielding on a cell like that, ya gotta make sure ta insulate the barrier generators against electromagnetic pulses. One li’l EMP grenade was all it took ta turn off yer fairy lights. Ya might wanna, uhh… get on fixin’ that.”

 When Junkrat finally finished his rambling, Soldier 76 turned his glare on Winston.

 “I thought I told you to _disarm them_.” He rumbled out, causing the gorilla to flinch away slightly.

 “I did! A-at least… I _thought_ I did…” he replied, a look of genuine confusion on his face. The response was a bout of mad laughter.

 “Nah, nah, nah, don’t go blamin’ the monkey fer that! Bloke actually did a decent search of us. Y’know, for an amateur. Thing is, ya been in my line o’ work fer long enough, ya learn ta hide contraband in some _very_ creative places, if ya know what I mean.”

 “Gross…” Mei groaned out, her face twisting up into a grimace of pure disgust.

 “Hey now, sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do.” McCree interjected, nodding his head knowingly as though he himself had been in that situation more than once. The climatologist couldn’t help but shudder slightly. She really could have done without knowing that… Just as she really could have done without Junkrat coming up behind her, hooking an arm each around both Mei’s and McCree’s necks, and pulling them close against his grime-covered torso.

 “Oh, we lot are gonna become the best of friends, I can already tell!” he announced gleefully just before getting a face-full of gloved fist and an ear-full of Chinese cursing.

 Yes, best of friends, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the delay in updates. Having actually gotten my hands on Overwatch, I've become inexcusably distracted lately. By the way, if you happen to play on PC, My BattleNet ID is MeBestMate#1118. Feel free to send me a friend invite if you'd like someone to play with.


	4. The Naked Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the delay of this chapter. I've had a cold for the past week and wasn't able to do much of anything. I'm not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out, but here it is regardless. I hope you can find some enjoyment in it.

 Tracer let out a loud yawn as she shuffled her way into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she made her way automatically towards the coffee machine. Though she was barely awake enough to keep her eyes open, she could already tell someone had been up and about and, more importantly, had already brewed up a full pot of coffee. A smile spread itself across her otherwise zombie-like expression. That was one good thing about having a couple of Australians around: they were serious about their coffee. Since the two Junkers fell under Overwatch’s protection a week ago, Tracer had been greeted every morning by the delightful aroma of some of the best damn coffee she’d ever had. Unfortunately, it was about when she went to reach for the pot that she remembered the downsides to having the two outlaws around.

 She pulled her hand away almost immediately, her fingers now covered in a blackish grime that looked to be some combination of dirt, automotive grease and soot. A glance around the room revealed the same sort of grime peppered just about everywhere in the form of large, narrow-fingered handprints. Tracer was left to stare at the ungodly mess with visible exasperation, hardly noticing when someone else walked into the room.

 “Oh hey, wassup, Len—Woah! What the hell happened in here?”

 Lúcio’s greeting took a distinct turn in subject when he took notice of the substance now coating everything one would normally want to put their hand on. The DJ had to stand there for a moment, his face mirroring the same look of ‘there ain’t no way in hell I’m cleaning this up’ that Tracer’s had. Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away from the new handprint décor and glance her way.

 “Uhhh… Is this, like, an everyday thing around here?” he asked hesitantly, to which Tracer let out a heavy sigh.

 “It _wasn’t_ until we picked up those two lunatics.” She replied without having to specify exactly which two lunatics she was referring to. “That Junkrat bloke’s probably been covered in this same filth since before Overwatch got back together. I dunno how he can stand to be so dirty all the time… Makes me want to shower just looking at him.”

 “What, dude’s never heard of a bath?” Lúcio asked, to which Tracer couldn’t help but scoff.

 “Oh, he’s heard of ‘em, all right. Mercy tried to get him to bathe when she did his physical, and he just flipped out! Acted like she was trying to chop off his other hand or something! Roadhog told her something ‘bout him being afraid of water, so she just let him be.”

 Lúcio face twisted up into something of a contemplative look as he ran a hand through his dreadlocks. Could someone really be so afraid of water that they’d even fear something as harmless as taking a bath? He’d never heard of such a thing, but he supposed it wasn’t completely impossible. After all, Junkrat wasn’t exactly the most stable guy to begin with. Irrational fears shouldn’t come as such a surprise when dealing with someone like that.

 “I mean… I guess that’s fair enough, but a dude can’t just go his whole life without getting’ clean at least once in a while.” He replied, mostly to himself. Then, an idea started to form in his mind. At first he almost felt a little ashamed of himself for thinking such a thing, and he nearly discarded the thought altogether. The more he looked at the mess in the kitchen, though…

 “Hey… I’m not usually the kinda guy that forces people to do things they really don’t like, but… Can’t we just fill a kiddie pool with soapy water and shove him in it? Man, I feel awful for even suggestin’ it, but… It shouldn’t be _that_ bad, should it? How bad can someone freak out over a kiddie pool?”

 Tracer’s brows knit together in thought as she listened to Lúcio’s idea. You know what… that plan wasn’t half bad! Both her and the DJ were pretty quick on their feet. Between the two of them, catching the manic Junker shouldn’t be too much trouble. As for actually getting him in the water, well… They just had to recruit a bit of muscle, of which they had plenty around here. Then all they had to do was hold him down and scrub off as much of that grime covering his body as they could before he bolted. Honestly, how hard could it be?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 It was only a matter of hours before ‘Operation Dirty Rat’ was ready to be implemented. Tracer and Lúcio had managed to recruit some muscle in the form of McCree, and the three of them had set to work immediately. By lunch time, everything was set. All they needed now was one hydrophobic Junker.

 It wasn’t hard to find the man. Besides being a loudmouth who never shut up, that peg leg of his made a very distinct ‘ping’ sound as he hobbled across the concrete and metal floors of the base. All they had to do was listen long enough to zero in on his location. When they’d caught him wandering by the area where they’d set up their little impromptu bathtub, Tracer zoomed out in front of him, giving the startled man a wide grin – a grin made slightly more genuine due to the happy discovery that Junkrat’s bodyguard was nowhere to be seen for once.

 “Hiya!” she greeted with a small two-fingered salute. She didn’t waste any further forced small talk, instead going straight to the point. “Been lookin’ all over for ya! Wanna see something cool?”

 Junkrat’s initial reaction to the sudden invitation was mixed, to say the least. He certainly seemed intrigued by whatever imaginary thing she wanted to show him, but at the same time he’d used that line one too many times to be so easily fooled by it. He seemed to settle on suspicion, his eyes narrowing down at her.

 “Alroight, what’re ya up to? That line ain’t never somethin’ good when _I_ say it. I don’t expect much better outta _you_ , ya pommy bastard.” He retorted, folding his arms across his bare chest – he was still ‘disarmed’, after all—and shifting his stance to where he could break into what, for him, was a run if he needed to. Tracer’s grin lost some of its sincerity, but she forced it to remain nonetheless.

 “Oh, don’t be like that, Love! We’re on the same side now! You don’t have to be so twitchy around us!” she assured, to which he simply scoffed.

 “ _Roight_. Listen, Sheila, when ya’ve had as many blokes tryin’ ta kill ya on a daily basis as I have, _then_ you can come talk ta me ‘bout when I can an’ can’t be twitchy. I don’t trust no one ‘sides Roadhog, least of all li’l girlies that’re up ta somethin’!”

 Tracer set her hands on her hips for a moment, chewing at her bottom lip in thought. Luckily she thought as fast as she ran.

 “Actually, it’s Roadhog I had in mind when I found the thing. He always seems so grumpy, so I figured giving him a gift might lighten him up a little. You’re his best mate, yeah? Wouldn’t you like to give it to him yourself?”

 Ah, that did it. Junkrat almost completely dropped his guard at the mention of the Junker Enforcer, now seeming more curious than suspicious.

 “Well, sure, that might get the big guy in a slightly better mood… But that all depends on what’cha got. He’s got real specific tastes, that one does.”

 “It’s kind of hard to describe… Why don’t you just come see for yourself?” she urged, but when Junkrat didn’t seem to be buying it, she added, “He likes pigs, yeah?”

 “Oh, sure! Ol’ Hoggie’s a sucker fer anythin’ with a cute li’l piggie on it!” he replied with a grin, finally letting the last of his guard down and puffing out his chest proudly. “I steal ‘im piggie stuff all the time! Never fails ta bring a smile to his face! At least… I _think_ that’s smilin’… Hard ta tell with the mask.”

 “Oh, that’s perfect, then! Come on, I’ll show it to you and you can go give it to him!” Tracer chirped out happily, grabbing hold of his hand and trying to ignore how grimy his fingers felt against her own as she pulled him along after her. He didn’t resist so long as she kept down to his staggered pace, letting her lead him down the hall into one of the shuttle bays.

 The large hangar had what you’d expect in it; the dropship, first and foremost, spare parts, loading equipment, crates of who-knows-what, Lúcio, a little pink plastic kiddie pool – wait… Junkrat stopped dead once he saw that last one, his eyes widening owlishly and filling with what had to be terror. He ripped his hand out of Tracer’s almost immediately, taking a few shaking steps back away from her.

 “Wh-what’s that…” he stammered out, his gazed fixed solidly on the little circular kiddie pool they’d managed to drag in from somewhere, staring at it as though it was some sort of Eldritch abomination. Tracer took a glance back towards the item in question – her gaze meeting that of Lúcio for a moment – before turning back to Junkrat with an innocent smile.

 “What do you mean? It’s just a little kiddie pool. Y’know, the kind little babies play in. What’s wrong with that?”

 “I-it’s got water in it! I can _smell_ it! A-and—“ he took a quick sniff of the air. “A-and _soap!_ I knew you fuckers were up ta somethin’!”

 And that was all the information he needed to turn tail and bolt right out of the room. He made it all of three steps before being yanked off his feet by his waist.

 “Woah, there! Just where d’ya think yer goin’?” McCree teased with a smirk as he hoisted Junkrat off the ground by the back of his pants. He then started his way over towards where Lúcio stood by the kiddie pool, though he had to fight the ever-intensifying thrashing of his prisoner with each advancing step.

 “N-no! No no no! Yer not getting’ me in that thing! I-I’ll die! I’ll fuckin’ die, I swear ta God!!” he shouted shrilly, trying in vain to get his feet under him once more so he could fight more effectively. Alas, the way McCree had him balanced made it impossible, leaving him unable to do much but flail wildly. The gunslinger gave a small grunt, hoisting him a little higher up.

 “C’mon now, stop actin’ like a damned brat. Ya ain’t gonna die from no bath, I promise ya.” He grumbled out as he neared the pool. Much to his surprise, the flailing suddenly stopped after that. Grateful as he was to not have to struggle against that thrashing anymore, he’d also been suddenly relieved of much of the weight he’d just been carrying, which was a problem. He glanced down at his side to find that all he now held in his hand were a pair of torn camo cargo shorts, the owner of which was decidedly absent.

 “Aw, hell!” he cursed aloud, tuning just in time to catch sight of Junkrat’s pale, naked backside as he darted out of the hangar. He stared at that spot long after the man had gone, his half-smoked cigar falling out of his mouth. There were quite a few things that Soldier 76 definitely didn’t want to see happening under his command. He was pretty sure that a crazy criminal streaking frantically around the base was rather high up there on that particular list. McCree turned back to Tracer and Lúcio, both of whom had about the same look of horror on their faces as he’d had, and pointed an accusatory finger at the both of them.

 “Yer payin’ me extra for this horse shit!”

 “But we’re not paying you…”

 “Ya are now!”

 

* * *

 

 

 Junkrat ran through the base like his life depended on it, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he currently wore nothing but the single boot on his good foot. Of course, if he _had_ noticed, there was a fair chance that he didn’t much care at the moment. Those bastards were trying to give him a _bath_. They were trying to make him get into _water_. No no no, he couldn’t let that happen! Water was pain. Water was death. He could already feel his skin burning lightly just thinking about it, his breaths coming in quick, panicked gasps as though he were fighting the sensation of drowning. His mechanical hand clenched spasmodically at his side, a phantom pain gripping it for the first time in a very long while since losing the damned limb. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to will the pain to go away, but the image of three glowing blue dots seemed to burn themselves into the backs of his eyelids, a sight that practically made his heart stop.

 Suddenly, a new pain seemed to knock the dreaded image from his head. Something akin to a brick wall had slammed into Junkrat’s face, knocking him clean off his feet and onto the ground. The back of his head collided with the concrete below, though even through the sharp ringing in his ears he could hear heavy footsteps shuffling closer.

 “Ah, es tut mir lied, mein Freund! I did not see you zere!” was the initial booming reply from the mysterious brick wall he’d run headlong into. Then, the heavy steps faltered, presumably because the large man had finally taken a good look at the scrawny one lying half-dazed on the floor. “Err… vhy are you naked?”

 Suddenly, Junkrat’s eyes snapped open wide to stare up at the German mountain that was now leaning over him, a concerned look on his scarred face. The scavenger’s brain was still in panic mode, only able to think in short, simplistic bursts. Reinhardt. It was Reinhardt. Reinhardt made shiny rectangles. Shiny rectangles keep you safe. _Stand behind the fucking rectangle_.

 The old knight let out a startled yelp when the crazed Junker leapt up to his feet, scrambling frantically to get behind him.

 “Shield, shield, _shield!!!_ ” was all Junkrat could manage to squeak out in explanation. Reinhardt could do little more than stare down under his arm at the frightened man, more confused than ever before. To begin with, he wasn’t wearing his armor, so he could no more produce a shield at the moment than could the Junker himself. Secondly, and likely most importantly, what on Earth could he be running from while in the safety of the Overwatch base that would make him so clearly terrified? Thirdly… _Why the fuck was he naked?!_

 The sound of a small stampede pulled Reinhardt’s attention from the enigma currently hiding behind him. He glanced over just in time to watch Tracer, McCree, and Lúcio run in from the general direction Junkrat had come from. Before any explanations could be given, there was a shrill shriek of terror from behind him.

 “I-it’s _them!!_ Listen, Reinhardt, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal… If you keep those three cunts away from me, I promise I’ll hunt down whatever piece of David Hasselhoff junk ya could ever want! Free of charge, even! J-just keep ‘em away!! They’re tryin’a fuggin’ _kill me!!_ ”

 “We are _not!_ ” Tracer shot back indignantly. “Reinhardt, don’t listen to him! He’s just being overly dramatic ‘cause he doesn’t want to take a bath!”

 This new bit of information caused the knight to turn fully on Junkrat, who seemed to flinch back under the towering man’s shadow.

 “Is zis true?” he asked calmly, though his voice was as booming as ever. The Junker didn’t answer verbally, instead glancing frightfully between the larger man and the three that pursued him. Reinhardt’s face broke into a kind, almost grandfatherly smile, and he held his massive hands out as though trying to coax a frightened animal into trusting him. “Ah, come now, Mäuschen! It is just a bath! Now, vhy don’t you just come here, and—“

 But the instant Reinhardt had made a move to grab hold of Junkrat’s arm, the man scrambled away with the kind of speed and dexterity one would never have thought him capable of. He darted over tables, chairs, and whatever other furniture was between himself and the door on the other side of the room, bolting once more.

 Junkrat once again found himself running, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember where exactly he was in the seemingly massive Overwatch base. He could already hear his pursuers closing in on him again, this time with the thunderous footfalls of Reinhardt accompanying them. He knew he couldn’t outrun them forever, not when he had to hobble along like this. He had to hide.

 New plan firmly in place, the Junker rounded the next corner and darted through the first door he spotted, slamming it securely closed again before he even had the chance to register where he’d hidden. His mistake was quickly made clear when a piercing scream rang in his ears. He glanced up from where he’d been trying to catch his breath against the wall, his gaze meeting the truly horrified expression of Mei. He’d run right into her bedroom. Thankfully, she was fully dressed despite the intrusion. The same couldn’t be said of the intruder, unfortunately.

 A string of Chinese cursing was Junkrat’s only warning before the climatologist reached for her endothermic blaster. The Junker let out a scream almost as high-pitched as hers had been, his hands immediately moving to shield his important bits from the blast of cold he was being threatened with. Faced with the difficult choice of either having his junk frozen off or diving out into the fray once more, he naturally chose the latter.

 The four who had been chasing him – now halfway down the hall running the completely wrong direction – had to clamor to a stop once they heard Mei’s door slam open. Tracer turned just in time to watch Junkrat scramble out of the room with his hands covering his privates, an angry little woman chasing him with blaster in hand.

 “He’s heading back towards the hangar! C’mon, let’s go!” she announced before sprinting after the two, leading the others back the way they’d come.

 Junkrat was seemingly oblivious to the fact that he now ran in the direction of the very thing he’d been trying to get away from this whole time, his primary concern momentarily shifted to the stampede at his back. He only realized his mistake – well, his _latest_ mistake – when he came to a screeching halt in the hangar where this whole fiasco had started, that little pink kiddie pool sitting there like a looming shadow of the punishment he would face for losing this one particular chase. He swallowed hard at the lump that had gathered in his throat. He’d rather go back to prison than have to go through this kind of torture!

 He only turned his back on the damnable pool when he heard five sets of footsteps run in after him. Well now, this was definitely one of those ‘between a rock and a hard place’ sort of situations. Five Overwatch agents against one helpless Junker? How fair was that? He wasn’t even armed, or he’d…. Junkrat’s lamentations at the situation paused when a realization floated to the surface of his mind. He may have been literally naked, but he _wasn’t_ unarmed. He was _never_ unarmed.

 As the others closed in slowly around him like a pack of hungry dingoes waiting to strike the final blow on their prey, Junkrat reached over to his mechanical arm, slid back a panel, and retrieved a small circular object from one of the many hidden compartments Winston had failed to search for. The small bomb was thrown against the ground in front of him before anyone had a chance to react, half of the hangar suddenly filling with a dense cloud of what seemed like smoke at first, but what turned out to be an explosion of very fine desert dust. Either way, it did its job. The lot of them were thrown into a coughing fit as the dust filled their lungs and stung at their eyes and – most importantly – concealed Junkrat’s escape.

 Tracer was the first to regain her senses of the situation, luckily having had the forethought to wear her goggles that day, and tried her best to peer through the thick cloud of dust as soon as her coughing fit died down enough. She couldn’t see anything, but she did _hear_ something. A shout of surprise rang out throughout the hangar, one she immediately recognized as having come from the twitchy scavenger they’d been chasing this whole time. She waved her hands in front of her, trying to disperse the stubborn dust so she could see what happened. Once it finally cleared, she froze dead in place.

 Junkrat now hung upside-down by his prosthetic leg, which was held securely in a massive hand. Another equally massive hand reached up to wipe the fine layer of dust from the lenses of a patchwork gasmask, and Tracer could practically feel the rage behind them already. Roadhog stood like a mountain over her, a mountain that could snap her neck in a moment if he so chose to. She had half a mind to dash out of there to save her own skin as the Junker Enforcer slowly took in the scene before him. His eyes scanned over the five dust-covered agents, most of whom were still trying to get the stuff out of their eyes, before he finally settled on the little kiddie pool at his feet.

 Much to Tracer’s surprise, Roadhog _didn’t_ then go on a murderous rampage on his employer’s behalf. Instead, his free hand gripped around Junkrat’s abdomen, his fingers damn near wrapping the entire way around his scrawny waist. With a long-mastered twist of his wrist, the smaller Junker’s peg leg was off in an instant. Another deft flick of the wrist had his prosthetic arm off in the next moment.

 “O-oi, Hoggie! What th’ fuck d’ya think yer doin’, mate?!” Junkrat stammered out desperately, his eyes wide and fearful once more as he watched himself drawing nearer and nearer to that dreaded kiddie pool. Roadhog said nothing as he settled himself on the ground, lowering the flailing man in his grasp down into the soapy water. The shouting and thrashing increased to full-blown hissy-fit levels the instant the younger Junker’s skin touched the water, half of which soon ended up outside the confines of the kiddie pool as a result.

 Roadhog kept a hold of his employer effortlessly through it all, his strength more than enough to handle the man once the limbs on his right side were reduced to harmless stumps. He held him down in the water until Junkrat eventually seemed to wear himself out. He was left panting heavily in what amounted to a puddle of increasingly dingy water, staring down at himself as though in utter disbelief that his skin wasn’t raw and blistered by it.

 When the commotion finally died down, Tracer could swear she could hear something like… humming? Was Roadhog humming something? She could just barely pick out a tune in it, but it was one she didn’t quite recognize. Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick in calming Junkrat down further, who simply sat there with a blank look on his face as the larger man worked what was left of the soapy water over his soot-stained skin. Well then, perhaps she should have just asked Roadhog to begin with and avoided this entire mess.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Of course, chaos of this magnitude on Overwatch premises did not go unnoticed, especially by one man. Soldier 76 was currently marching his way down to the dropship hangar, having heard of a certain outlaw running naked through the base almost as soon as it had happened. He tracked the trail of discord that had been left by the chase, stepping over knocked-over furniture and eyeing the occasional dingy handprint left on the walls until there was only one place the culprit could have gone to.

 The commander was stopped in his tracks the moment he stepped into the hangar. It took a moment to process just exactly what he was seeing. Half of the shuttle bay was now covered in filth, a fine powdery dust coating everything in sight, including six of the individuals standing in the middle of it all. In fact, there was only one thing in all this mess that _wasn’t_ dirty. It was… Wait, who was that? Soldier 76 almost hadn’t recognized him without the layer of grime covering his body. A scrawny stick of a man sat in the middle of a pink kiddie pool, his hair wet and stringy and clinging to his balding head, a fine sprinkling of freckles covering his pale face and shoulders. If he hadn’t spotted the two rusty prosthetics lying nearby, he might not have connected this man to Junkrat at all, but there he was. And he was actually _clean_ for once.

 The same could not be said for the five agents who stood off to the side, each trying their best to avoid eye-contact with their commander. After a long moment of silent scrutiny, Soldier 76 merely let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head to himself as he turned to leave the room.

 “Clean this mess up…”


	5. Peace Offering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Expect updates every two weeks or so. That seems to be my pace for this fic.

 The sound of Widowmaker’s heels ringing against the polished marble floor echoed down the sterile white hallway, which made her tenser than she’d ever admit. In this silent corridor, the sound was deafening, the whiteness blinding. She was a speck of vibrancy in a colorless void. Not something you want if you’re a sniper. She stuck out like a sore thumb, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Ripe for the killing should an enemy sniper be camped at either end of the seemingly endless hall.

 Despite it all, the Talon agent’s face betrayed nothing of the instinctual unease hiding within her. Her expression remained cold and emotionless, as though she’d find no more dangers here than she would whilst walking through a field of daisies. Of course, she hadn’t any real reason to fear for her safety here, not like an infiltrator normally might. After all, she’d been invited.

 As she reached her destination, the wall before her turned a bright, transparent blue before flickering away entirely. It surprised her a bit more than it really should have. Hard-light constructs were what this company was best known for. She stared across the threshold for a moment, taking in the room’s contents. It was as sterile and blindingly white as the rest of the place, decorated with slowly spinning blue holograms tracing out intricate patterns over the walls. In the middle of it all was a large white desk, behind which sat a gray-haired, middle-aged man wearing a suit of the company’s preferred style. Behind him stood a woman in a blue dress.

 Widowmaker stepped through into the room, and the wall flicked back into existence behind her. The man at the desk smiled when she jumped slightly at that, the skin around his eyes creasing in amusement. She responded only with an icy stare. She glanced down at the nameplate on his desk. ‘Abhisara Vishkar.’ She’d assassinated more important men than this for less. Perhaps after all of this was done, she’d add him to her list.

 “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Vishkar greeted, the barest trace of a Hindi accent coming through in his smooth voice. “I would like to thank you and your organization for all of your hard work in tracking that Junker man, but I’m afraid my patience in this matter is not boundless. Have you made any progress at all in the past few weeks?”

 Widowmaker couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose in distaste at the way this man spoke to her. He may have been Talon’s current client, but what right did that give him to treat her like one of his common employees?

 “Ze trail ‘as gone cold. He ‘as been taken by Overwatch. Z’eir location is still unknown to us.” she reported, trying her best to keep a sneer off of her face. Vishkar nodded, lacing his fingers together in front of him on his desk.

 “It is as I’d suspected…” the man replied with a wistful sigh, though he didn’t seem terribly upset at the news. “Honestly, I’d expected more from Talon…”

 This last remark was enough to make the sniper ball her fist up at her side, at which Vishkar held up a peremptory hand.

 “Now, now. I did not call you here to antagonize you. We are allies, if only for the time being. I would instead wish to _help_ you in your mission, and for this I need _your_ talents in particular.”

 Widowmaker let out a sharp scoff, and she almost couldn’t keep herself from rolling her eyes at the man. She settled for impatiently folding her arms across her chest.

 “So _now_ you finally want ze rat dead?”

 “ _No!_ ” Vishkar snapped back immediately, his tone shifting from its usual mild amusement for the first time since she’d arrived. “You cannot kill him under _any_ circumstances. The information he has is the true target here. I need him _alive_.”

 “Z’en why hire a _sniper?_ ” she hissed in reply, her patience running dangerously thin. Vishkar did not respond to her directly, instead making a gesture to the woman at his side. As she stepped forward, Widowmaker turned her attention fully on her for the first time since she’d stepped into the room. Now that she thought about it, this woman looked rather familiar. She recognized the particular style of her dress, her distinctive visor, as well as the apparatus on her left arm. If she recalled correctly, she went by the name ‘Symmetra.’

 Symmetra raised her hands before her, weaving a hard-light construct with fluid, elegant hand motions. Within moments, what looked like a biotic dart floated above her palm, a glowing blue liquid encased within. Widowmaker arched a thin eyebrow at it, looking down at the architect for an explanation.

 “It contains nano-machines that we will use to create a link with his mind. Simply hit him with it, and we will take care of the rest. Make sure it hits the first time. Our research shows that Mr. Fawkes is deathly afraid of snipers – with good reason. If you miss, I guarantee you will not get a second shot.”

 Widowmaker narrowed her eyes at the woman, snatching the dart away from her.

 “I _never_ miss.”

 

* * *

 

 

 Meanwhile, about halfway across the globe, the Overwatch base had fallen decidedly quiet in the days following the whole bath fiasco. Junkrat had more or less barricaded himself in his and Roadhog’s quarters, not daring to leave unless his bodyguard was with him. Even then, it was usually the Junker Enforcer out and about on his own, and usually only to grab some food and bring it back to their room for his employer. While the silence was a welcome change from the chaos that hung around the hunted man like a fog, the sudden change was a tad unsettling to say the least.

 Of course, the absolute dressing down that Mercy had given those involved in the incident may have contributed to it. She’d been absolutely livid with them – mainly the three who originally initiated everything. Honestly, after seeing firsthand exactly how terrified Junkrat had been of that stupid kiddy pool, the lot of them genuinely felt pretty bad about it. That was probably why McCree found himself marching reluctantly down the hall towards the Junkers’ room with a very insistent Reinhardt at his back.

 “Do not look so glum, mein Freund! I’m sure ve vill have a vonderful time!” the knight rumbled out, clapping a huge hand against the other man’s back, nearly knocking him to the ground in the process. McCree endured the blow with a grunt, but managed to stay upright.

 “Yeah, sure. Like wrastlin’ a rabid coyote…” the gunslinger grumbled mostly to himself, his hand moving up to adjust his hat. The two stopped in front of the appropriate door and, after a bit of prodding from Reinhardt, McCree raised a fist preparing to knock at the door.

 “Sit your arse down, would ya? Yer makin’ me fuckin’ dizzy, watchin’ ya pace in circles like that…”

 The sudden deep rumbling reverberating from behind the door was enough to make the gunslinger pause before knocking. That was definitely Roadhog’s voice – he could tell only by the pitch – but that had to have been the first time he’d ever heard it clearly enough to make out a solid sentence. The reason for this sprang to mind almost immediately; he must not have his mask on at the moment. A sudden surge of curiosity and impulsiveness made McCree’s hand veer towards the doorknob, but he was stopped from making what might possibly be a life-ending decision when he heard the frustrated half growl, half whiny shriek coming from the other occupant of the room.

 “I can’t stand it anymore, Hog! I hate being cooped up in here! If I don’t get outside soon, I’m gonna burn this damned place to the ground!”

 “Yeah, and who’s fault is that? This was _your_ bloody idea. Or would ya rather take your chances out there with Talon?”

 The response was another inarticulate noise from the other man before the uneven ‘thunk-ping’ of Junkrat’s angry pacing resumed once more. The relative silence was enough to break McCree’s daze, and he finally gave a knock at the door. The pacing came to an abrupt stop, followed by a frantic scrambling of boot and peg-leg. There was a heavy, gruff sigh, before the sound of several buckles being fastened could be heard. It was another moment before the door finally opened, Roadhog’s massive form looming overhead, his mask securely in place. His only attempt at a greeting was an impatient, questioning grunt.

 “Uhhh… Howdy..?” was all McCree managed to get out now that he was standing in the shadow of the mountainous Junker. The bodyguard’s fists slowly balled up at his sides, his impatience quickly evolving into something a bit more dangerous. Luckily, Reinhardt was not quite so intimidated by Roadhog’s size – for obvious reasons – and stepped in.

 “Ah, my friends! Ve vere vondering if ze two of you vould vant to join us for ze evening! Ve are having, as you say, a guy’s night out!”

 At that, a pair of beady hazel eyes peeked out from around the edge of the doorframe, staring at the two agents with obvious suspicion.

 “Yeah, an’ why the fuck should I trust you two tossers? I’ve got half a mind ta plant a live grenade in ya bunks for what you lot did ta me!”

 “We’re bringing booze.” McCree interjected flatly. As expected, that one little fact changed the entire tone of the conversation. Junkrat, his aversion to stepping outside his room suddenly evaporating, squeezed past Roadhog to stand before the two other men, his arms outstretched welcomingly and a huge grin on his face.

 “ _Mates!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

 It was actually almost into the next morning before the lot of them left for their ‘guy’s night out,’ mostly because they wanted to wait for it to be night time at their ultimate destination. Surprisingly enough, Soldier 76 had authorized the use of the dropship for recreational purposes, if only for this one time. The excuse of preventing the Junkers from getting cabin fever turned out to be a very convincing argument. Still, he probably wouldn’t have agreed so readily if he knew what they were taking along with them – mainly several cases of assorted alcohol and some of Junkrat’s explosives. This, of course, made a certain someone practically giddy with excitement.

 Strapping Junkrat into his seat had become a necessity, since he’d be bouncing around the ship if he wasn’t. However, he was so excited to be getting out into the open air after nearly a month of being cooped up in the Overwatch base that he hardly seemed to notice. He was currently rambling on about it to a very disinterested Roadhog, though one could tell by his relatively calm mood that he was glad to be getting out too. Reinhardt sat nearby and was currently having a loud, joking conversation with Torbjörn. Lúcio was pouring over his audio equipment, hashing out the music to be played during their little outing. McCree stood by the controls of the ship, having a bit of an argument with Athena about whether or not she knew where she was going. She did, of course. Finally, Genji was tucked away in a corner by himself, looking a bit glum as though he’d been dragged out there against his will. Winston had been invited, but it was decidedly harder to drag a gorilla out of the base than a small ninja.

 Finally, the ship lowered down at their destination; the Grand Canyon. It was still early enough in the western United States that they could see the lingering oranges and pinks of a sun that had just disappeared beyond the horizon. It was late enough than any wandering tourists had long since gone home, and early enough that they had the whole night ahead of them to fuck around at the national monument. Oh, and fuck around they would.

 Junkrat had his face pressed up against the window of the dropship door since the moment Roadhog had finally unhooked him from his seat, eagerly trying to scope out where he’d been taken. He was so excited that he’d hardly noticed when the door fell open, causing him to tumble gracelessly out onto the dusty rock below. He was back on his feet in an instant, looking around him with wide eyes and an even wider grin. This place vaguely reminded him of some of the places he’d wandered through in the Australian Outback – minus the radiation, of course.

 “Fair Dinkum! Get a load of this, Hoggie! Looks kinda like that King’s Canyon place ya took me to, don’t it?” he called out, turning his excited grin back towards his bodyguard. Roadhog just stood at the edge of the dropship door, staring silently out at the huge canyon that stretched out endlessly before them, his expression impossible to read behind that gasmask of his. Still, Junkrat’s grin faded slightly, and he hobbled over to give the larger man’s vest a light tug.

 “Ya alroight, mate..?” he asked in a low voice, trying to keep the slight note of concern between the two of them. The question seemed to jar Roadhog from his thoughts, and he gave a small grunt of acknowledgement in reply. He then turned and retreated back into the ship to help Reinhardt bring out the cases of beer they’d brought with them. Junkrat merely shrugged and went back to his excited surveying of the area.

 McCree and Lúcio had been standing back for a moment, both rather curious of the two Junkers’ reactions to the venue. After the whole scene had played out, Lúcio couldn’t help but smile, nudging McCree lightly with his elbow.

 “Hey, looks like you picked a good spot! This is gonna be great!” he complimented, to which the gunslinger merely hooked his thumbs under his belt and chewed at the end of his cigar.

 “Yeah, I sure hope so. If this thing goes south, Jack’ll prolly have my ass…”

 

* * *

 

 

 Fortunately for McCree, is seemed Lúcio’s assessment of the night to come was more or less correct. The next few hours grew louder and more raucous in proportion to the amount of alcohol the group consumed. By midnight, the canyon was filled with echoes of boisterous laughter, loud music and, of course, explosions. By the time the lot of them had blown through their fourth case of beer, any and all hesitation to interact with the Junkers had completely evaporated. Torbjörn, McCree, and Lúcio were having a bit of a contest to see who could catch sight of more of Roadhog’s face whenever he pulled up his mask to have a drink. Alas, the most they could see was a pair of broad lips and a fringe of silver scruff lining a wide jawline, though Torbjörn would swear to this day that he once saw the edge of some tattoos peeking out on his lower cheeks. The others assumed he was just making it up to win.

 Eventually, the Junker Enforcer had become sufficiently plastered enough to accept an arm-wrestling challenge from an equally drunk Reinhardt. A few of the empty crates were set up as a makeshift table for the competition, bets were taken, and the spectacle began. Unfortunately, before a victor could be named, Roadhog had to step away when his bodyguard senses started tingling. It turned out that McCree had been trying to teach Junkrat and Genji the exact technique for breaking a beer bottle in such a way that one could stab someone with it, but not have it shatter in his hand. Needless to say, Roadhog wasn’t about to let that bit of information pass into his twitchy employer’s hands.

 The rest of the night consisted mostly of Junkrat launching grenades and throwing mines out over the open canyon while the others tried to detonate them mid-air with their projectile of choice. McCree was especially fond of this little game, since it let him show off his expert gunmanship. Even Genji joined in, aiming his shuriken to hit the explosives in quick succession. Torbjörn was pretty well into it as well, though the others had bitterly declared that using his turret was cheating. Junkrat didn’t mind. In fact, he was quite interested in how the device worked, even tearing his eyes away from his beautiful impromptu fireworks to watch how it fired.

 Junkrat was having the time of his life out there. There were explosions, there was booze, there were people to laugh at his stupid jokes, and he’d even managed to roll around in the dirt enough when no one was looking to regain his usual, comfortable layer of filth. He couldn’t stop his mad giggling, bouncing around the group like a kangaroo on caffeine. Was this what it was like to hang out with friends? He could get used to this!

 Unfortunately, it all had to come crashing down eventually. Junkrat had taken one hop too many that night, and when his peg-leg next hit the ground, he felt it cave in under him. The next thing he knew, he was lying face down against the rock he’d just been standing on, the knee joint of his prosthetic leg in shatters.

 “Ah fuck…” he grumbled out against the stone. He rose up unsteadily by his arms, spitting out a good mouthful of sand before trying to look back and inspect the damage with little more than an annoyed frown, as though this was something that happened quite often. Lúcio jumped to his feet, wobbling a little from the effects of the alcohol he’d consumed, and started to make his way over to the suddenly immobile Junker.

 “Woah, man. You alright?” he asked, though Junkrat merely waved him off before he could bend over to help him.

 “S’fine…” he grunted out, idly wiping away the trickle of blood from his nose before maneuvering himself into a sitting position. He then gathered the parts of his peg-leg, looking over a few of them to see what exactly had broken as though he planned to fix it right then and there. Roadhog could tell just by looking that a quick repair wasn’t going to happen, letting out a gruff sigh as he picked himself up from where he was seated at the edge of the canyon.

 That’s when they heard it. A shot rang out through the canyon like a sharp clap of thunder before the Junker Enforcer could take another step in his employer’s direction. If that all-too-familiar sound wasn’t enough to sober the lot of them right up, the sight of Junkrat instantly collapsing forward onto the ground once more certainly did the trick. Luckily, fears of the worst having happened were quickly dispelled when the fallen Junker stammered out a single word.

 “ _S-s-sniper!!_ ” Junkrat squeaked out, covering the back of his head and neck with his hands as he attempted to make himself as small a target as physically possible. Roadhog moved faster than any of them had thought him capable, scooping the smaller man up in his arms and putting his broad back towards the direction where the shot had originated before a second could be fired. The rest surrounded the two a moment later, weapons drawn and eyes scanning the rocky outcroppings for the glint of a scope lens, something they’d find almost impossible to see in the dead of night, unfortunately.

 “Did’ja get hit?” McCree called out, his revolver still at his hip as he kept a lookout for anything that would reveal the enemy’s location. Junkrat was too distracted to give a reply, instead reaching behind him to yank something out of the back of his neck. His hand came away holding what looked like a tranquilizer dart, though there remained traces of a glowing blue liquid in the clear capsule. His bushy brows knit together in utter confusion as he looked the thing over.

 “The fuck is this thi—“

 Suddenly, the Junker’s eyes rolled back into his head before he could finish his sentence, and he fell completely limp in his bodyguard’s arms. Roadhog’s eyes widened behind the dark lenses of his mask as he stared down at his unconscious employer. A feeling he hadn’t felt in decades welled up within him, one that made his blood run cold; terror.

 “ _Jamie!!_ ”


	6. Illusion of a Dream

 There were few times in Roadhog’s life when he’d felt absolutely helpless. It was quite a hard thing to accomplish, given the fact that he could probably kill just about anyone and anything that got in his way with his bare hands. Of course, he’d long since realized that those rare few things that managed to take this monstrous man down to his knees, managed to make him feel like an utter failure, never seemed to involve something tangible that he could rip violently limb from limb. No, the one thing he’d never been able to deal with properly was loss.

 It was that dreaded chill of loss that he felt creeping under his skin now as he stood off to the side in the Overwatch medical bay. Mercy hadn’t asked him to leave when she started treating Junkrat. She was a smart woman. She knew better. He watched in tense silence as she flitted around the hospital bed, connecting monitors, checking readings, drawing blood. He knew that, were his charge conscious, he’d be throwing a category five fit over it all. He never did like needles.

 Today, however, Junkrat was deathly silent. As much as Roadhog had always complained of his loud mouth, he was never so worried for his employer as when he was quiet. He couldn’t help but stare at the scrawny form there on the gurney, lying still as a corpse, his prosthetic limbs removed and stashed off to the side. That was another unnerving sight. Junkrat was never so still. _Never_. He was always moving in some way, always bouncing about, pacing, fiddling with something in his hands. Even when he slept he was always twitching, twisting about, kicking… much to his reluctant bedmate’s chagrin. Of course, though the constant nocturnal thrashing was annoying, it at least assured the Junker Enforcer that his charge was still alive. The only hint he had now were the constant beeps of the heart monitor mounted at the head of the bed and the slight fogging of the oxygen mask from Junkrat’s painfully slow, shallow breaths.

 “Look, Jack, I dunno what the hell yer expectin’ me to say! We were in the middle of Bumfuck, Arizona! How in the hell were we supposed ta know a fuckin’ sniper was gonna find us out in the middle of nowhere like that?!”

 The sudden commotion outside the medical bay came to an end when the door slid open. Roadhog barely caught sight of a rather disgruntled-looking McCree as Soldier 76 marched past into the ward, the door sliding shut behind him. The commander didn’t advance much further in, but whether it was to stay out of Mercy’s way or to keep a healthy distance away from Roadhog in case he went off was a mystery.

 “How’s he doing?” he asked in his usual gruff manner, though a slight note of genuine concern managed to leak through. Mercy never turned back to look at him as she gave her assessment, continuing her diligent work with her new patient.

 “The good news is he’s stable, at the very least. Whatever he was injected with doesn’t seem to be poison, or his condition would have worsened by now. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to wake him. I’d say he’s in a deep coma, but I haven’t found anything wrong with his brain that would cause it. No swelling, no bleeding, no trauma… I’ll run some more tests and try to get a closer look at what’s left in that dart, but that’s all I can say for now.”

 Soldier 76’s gaze shifted over towards Roadhog during the explanation, as though trying to gauge the giant’s reaction to the news. If it had hit him at all, any evidence was hidden behind that dark gasmask of his. He sighed to himself before giving a nod of his head.

 “Keep up the good work, Angela. Let me know if anything changes.” And with that, he left Mercy to her work and Roadhog to his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 

 Symmetra could already feel the unease building up inside her as she made her way down the familiar halls of Vishkar Corporation’s Research and Development wing. She’d already been given a brief rundown of what she was expected to do, and while the feat itself would be the marvel of the scientific community if ever it was revealed, the subject chosen for this little trial run was certainly less than ideal in her view. She’d normally be proud of her involvement in such an historic undertaking, but when it involved that absolute filthy vagabond… She’d almost be just as happy to have no part in it.

 Her footsteps didn’t falter in the slightest as she approached what appeared to be a solid wall. It flickered away into nothingness once she got close enough, and she continued on through. The room she now found herself in was considerably darker than the rest of the building, lit only by the glow of computer monitors. In the center of the room was a large, circular space, dim holograms spinning idly on the floor there. She glanced over towards one of the computer stations, where sat one of the few technicians she was familiar with.

 “Is everything ready, Janesh?”

 Janesh, a likeable enough man in his mid-thirties, looked up from his controls with a greeting smile.

 “Everything’s green across the board. All nanomachines are in place and reporting back with a 98% synchronization to all sensory centers of the subject’s brain. We’ve already begun streaming the simulation and the feedback is remarkably positive. All we need now is to get you in there.”

 Symmetra’s nose wrinkled up in distaste slightly at that last bit. To think that she would have to slog through this crazed madman’s mind to find where he’d hidden his bloody treasure… The thought alone was enough to make her skin crawl. She sincerely hoped that the feedback on her end would be limited to visual and audio data only.

 “Is the connection secure? There’s no way for Overwatch to trace the signal?” she asked, almost hoping for a practical excuse to abort the mission. Unfortunately, Janesh responded with a thumbs up.

 “I’d go so far as to say it’s the most secure connection in the world. We’ve routed it through just about every server and satellite in existence, and we’ve got it broadcasting to hundreds of dummy locations. Of course, Vishkar’s the only one that has the equipment to decipher it, but they won’t know that. Unfortunately, that means we can’t trace _their_ location either, but the only people here that’d care about that are those Talon hooligans. You do your job right and we won’t have to deal with _any_ of them anymore.”

 Symmetra couldn’t help but let out a small sigh to herself. Looks like there was no backing out of it now. She held her head high as she stepped forward into the center of the room. The holograms slowly rotating below the glass-like surface of the floor lit up brightly and increased in speed. Within seconds the architect found herself engulfed in a blinding light. After a moment, the light coalesced into shapes and colors until she found herself standing somewhere completely different.

 

* * *

 

 

 At first, the only thing that clearly registered in Junkrat’s mind was utter confusion. Just a moment ago, he’d been happily shooting off explosions over the Grand Canyon with a bunch of other drunk blokes, but now? Now he’d suddenly found himself sitting in a room he was positive he’d never seen before. Everything was clean and proper, the sleek white walls almost completely hidden by book cases filled to the brim with some of the thickest books he’d ever seen. Before him was a desk, on which lay a few more gigantic tomes with overly-scientific titles, a touchscreen computer built into the desk’s surface, and a small knick-knack displaying some abstract hologram design into the air above it.

 He was so baffled by his immediate surroundings that it took him a moment to realize that, aside from looking nothing like the Arizona desert, everything looked… _off_. It was all sharper than it should have been, more clear and in focus. It was about at that moment that he registered a slight weight on the bridge of his nose. He reached up with his flesh hand to remove the weight, and came away holding a pair of round-lensed glasses.

 “What the fuck..?” he mumbled to himself, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in utter bewilderment. Since when did he ever wear glasses? Those were for Suits and… and _normal_ people! No self-respecting Junker would be caught dead in a pair! He tossed the things to the surface of the desk, letting out a small huff of disappointment when the fragile-looking things didn’t break. Now that the world was at the proper lever of slight-blurriness, he took another look around. As he spun his chair around to look behind him, the opaque wall suddenly turned transparent in response. He let out a yelp of surprise, not only at the sudden shift, but at what it revealed.

 Beyond the wall-turned-window there sprawled a sparkling city of light, all white and hard-light constructs. Hovercrafts of all sizes zoomed through the air at such speed and volume that it was a wonder how they didn’t collide in mid-air. The thought of the explosion that would make was only a mild consolation, as he then remembered that he’d seen this city before. Not in person, of course. He’d never purposefully go to such a disgustingly sterile city willingly. It was on some of the advertisements he’d seen in his travels outside Australia. This was Utopaea.

 “What the fu—“ he repeated again to himself, but the sentiment was cut off as he grabbed at his hair with both hands in mild distress. His hair felt different. It wasn’t hot and smoldering. It wasn’t greasy. Most noticeable, however, was the distinct lack of bald patches. His hair was full and laid down against the back of his neck. It may have even been _combed_ before he’d gotten his hands on it.

 His attention soon left his hair when another strange sensation made itself apparent. Not only could he feel the soft texture of his hair with his left hand, but with his _right_ as well. He lowered both of them shakily, his heart starting to pound in his chest as he looked down at them. They were both there. _Both_ of them, flesh and bone. He frantically grabbed at his right forearm, as though unsure what hid beneath the white sleeve covering it. It was all there. No rusty metal, no scavenged components. It was _his_ arm. He could feel it. He could actually fucking _feel_ it!

 In what almost amounted to a panic, Junkrat leaned over and looked down at his legs. He could see no flesh beyond the horrible soft material of the trousers he found himself wearing, but he could already tell something was off. The way the fabric laid over his right leg… It neither had the bulk of his artificial knee joint, nor the thin rail of his peg-leg. He reached down with considerable hesitation, slowly rolling up his pant leg. He was greeted by a limb covered in pale skin and a thin coat of golden fuzz. He ran a trembling hand along it, drawing in a sharp gasp when he felt the action not only with his hand, but with the leg it touched. The leg he hadn’t had since he was a child.

 “Wh-what the…” he whispered weakly to himself, tears gathering in his eyes despite himself. He could hardly remember a time when he was whole like this. Hell, he could hardly remember a time before he’d hired Roadhog as his bodyguard at this point…

 This last thought had him standing bolt upright so fast that he’d nearly fallen flat on his face. He swung his arms out at his sides to try to maintain his balance, his hunched posture not helping much in that regard. It had been so long since he’d had an actual leg on his right side that he’d nearly forgotten how to walk with one. Not having to throw his weight forward to get that peg-leg in front of him was going to take some getting used to. He soon found some semblance of balance and slowly shambled his way around the desk and towards the door.

 “Hoggie! _Hoggie!!_ Oi, come out here! Ya gotta see this shit, mate!” he called out, trying to ignore how the spacious room reflected back the note of slight desperation in his voice. Roadhog had to be here. He just _had_ to! He wouldn’t go _anywhere_ without that big lug! He couldn’t imagine ever leaving his side, even in this crazy, mixed up place where long-lost limbs suddenly found their way back onto his body. Of course, the distinct lack of a large, looming presence in the room was enough to get him to panic slightly. Even so, he simply couldn’t let himself believe that he was alone. Roadhog was just… Standing guard outside the room. Yeah! That was it! That _had_ to be it! He grasped at the door handle the instant it was within reach, wrenching it open and flinging himself out into the hall.

 “Roadho—gahh!” His calls were cut off when he nearly crashed headlong into someone in the hallway. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t a giant Australian man he’d almost crashed into, but a petite Indian woman. She blinked up at him from behind an orange visor, taking a step back from the lanky man who’d nearly run her over.

 “Err… Dr. Fawkes, I see you are feeling better.” She commented sardonically, arching a thin eyebrow at his slightly disheveled appearance and erratic behavior. The way she addressed him made Junkrat instantly stare down at the woman in utter confusion, his mouth hanging open uselessly for a moment. This woman’s face looked vaguely familiar to him, though he couldn’t quite place it. Her dark hair was pulled back into a large bun at the back of her head, and she wore a uniform that was predominantly white and grey with a splash of royal blue here and there. A company ID hung from her neck, but the text was too blurry for him to make out from there – at least not without those damned glasses. All he could really make out was a prominent logo; a blue ‘V’ with a diamond above it.

 “H-hold on a tic… What’d ya jus’ call me? Who the bloody hell are ya?” he asked finally, his panicked eyes still staring down wildly at the woman even as she remained perfectly calm. She cleared her throat slightly and folded her hands neatly behind her back.

 “Perhaps you are still recovering, then… I am Dr. Satya Vaswani. We are colleagues working at Vishkar Corporation, don’t you remember? I’d come by to check on you, and it seems I had good reason to. Now then, Doctor, why don’t we get you back into your apartment for now?”

 Dr. Vaswani then hooked her arm around his, gently leading him back through the door he’d just burst out through a moment ago. He was far too stunned – and far too unbalanced still – to resist her tugging, and simply followed limply behind. She led him through to a living room area, sitting him down on the couch before heading off to the adjoining kitchen to make a pot of tea. Junkrat had to shake the fog of confusion from his head before he could resume his questioning.

 “Hold on, hold on… _‘Doctor?’_ Ya sure ya ain’t got the wrong bloke here?”

 “After working with you for three years? I’m quite sure. You are Dr. Jamison Fawkes, lead chemist in Vishkar’s Research and Development department.” She replied casually, as though this was a conversation she’d had to have quite often with him as of late. “You’ve become quite forgetful since your accident. I suppose that’s not too surprising. You took quite a blow to the head in the crash. Speaking of which, have you remembered to take your medicine? I doubt it, since you can’t even manage to remember your own name.”

 As Dr. Vaswani returned to the living room with two mugs of tea in hand, Junkrat rose to his feet in as dignified a manner as he could manage, pointing an accusatory finger her way.

 “Alroight, you listen here, Sheila—!”

 “Satya.”

 “ _Whatever!_ ” he shrieked impatiently. “I’m startin’ ta think that one of us has got a few screws loose here, and for once it ain’t _me!_ Now you’re gonna tell me exactly what’s goin’ on, or I’m gonna—! _I’m gonna—!!_ ”

 Dr. Vaswani merely stared unimpressed over the edge of her mug as Junkrat frantically started searching his person for something explosive to threaten her with. The more he patted himself down, the more he came to realize that he was unarmed. _Completely_ unarmed. He didn’t even have the secret compartments of his prosthetics as a back-up. His eyes widened in panic. Though he was probably wearing more clothes than he’d ever had on before, he’d never felt as naked as he did then. He let out a nervous burst of shaky giggles, glancing back at the woman sitting across from him.

 “Why not have some tea, Dr. Fawkes? Perhaps it’ll help calm your nerves.” She responded as calmly as ever, sipping idly at her own tea. Junkrat slowly sat down once more, staring down at the mug of tea that had been set on the coffee table in front of him. He didn’t want it. Hell, he wanted nothing more than to chuck the bloody thing across the room and turn this perfectly tidy little apartment into an utter hellzone just to make himself feel better. For now, he reined himself in, behaving himself just long enough to as one more crucial question.

 “Where’s Roadhog..?” he squeaked out in barely more than a whisper. Dr. Vaswani arched a brow once more at the question.

 “What is a ‘Roadhog?’ Another one of your strange Australian animals that you’re always on about?” she asked curtly, which made Junkrat’s hands ball up into fists where they rested against his knees.

 “Mako. Mako Rutledge.” He growled through gritted teeth, hazel eyes blazing dangerously as he glared her way. He hated giving out Roadhog’s real name like that. It felt dirty, it felt too personal. However, this woman only referred to him by his real name, so maybe they didn’t deal in nicknames here in this fucked up world he’d found himself in. “Tell me where the fuck he is _right now_.”

 Finally, Dr. Vaswani set down her mug, though the baffled look on her face didn’t dissipate.

 “I’m sorry, but… I’m not sure there’s anyone in this city by that name. Is he important at all?” she replied after a moment of thought. She didn’t get a verbal reply. Actually, she wasn’t sure she got a reply at all. Junkrat merely sat there, his mouth hanging open slightly, his wide eyes staring through her rather than at her. After waiting for several minutes for the man to snap out of his sudden catatonic state, she let out a sigh, gathered her empty mug, and went to wash it in the kitchen sink.

 “Well, I see that you’ve calmed down for the time being. Get some rest, Dr. Fawkes. I’ll be back in the morning to check on you once again.”

 With that, she left. Junkrat barely registered anything she’d said, and he hardly noticed at all when she left. He continued to stare at the spot where she’d sat, his mind too shocked to remember to express his rapidly rising panic on the outside. Roadhog wasn’t here. For the first time in years, he was unprotected. For the first time in years, he was _alone_.


	7. Laugh, Kookaburra, Laugh

 The echo of his sharp, mad cackling could barely be heard over the roar of engines, but it rang in Junkrat’s ears nonetheless. The fumes of dirty, burning petrol filled his lungs, fueling that strange high that only Junkers knew anymore. The desert dust on the wind stung at his bare skin as it whipped past, some of it sticking against his sweat-covered face and torso along with the soot and grime. His heart ponded in his chest like the beat of a war drum. He could feel the breath of Death itself breathing down his neck, yet he’d never felt so alive.

 “Get down!”

 The gruff roar was the only warning he got before a huge hand grabbed hold of his face and forced him down into the sidecar he’d been perched precariously on top of. The hand was removed an instant later, swiftly moving back to grasp the handlebar of the monstrous motorcycle once more. Junkrat’s laughter never ceased through it all, even as he saw the Molotov cocktail fly overhead from somewhere behind them, aiming for where he’d stood just a moment ago, exploding in a burst of flames in their path. Roadhog never faltered, driving them straight through the blaze.

 Junkrat flipped himself over, crawling up to his knees and bracing his grenade launcher against the edge of the sidecar just as their pursuers flanked around to his side. A makeshift dune buggy now rode alongside them on the right, accompanied by two men on a rusty old dirt bike, billowing clouds of orange dust trailing behind their rear tires. He could hear the buzz of two other dirt bike engines on Roadhog’s left, though he couldn’t see them from his vantage point. He aimed ahead of the two vehicles he could see, lobbing several grenades across their path. One hit the dirt bike square on the front tire, and the two riders were sent flying.

 “Ahahahaha!! Got’cha!!” he shouted in absolute glee, pointing a taunting finger back at the two men in the dirt behind them. When he looked back at the action, however, his smile was instantly wiped from his face as he found himself staring down the business end of what looked like a harpoon gun. He let out a yelp, ducking down into the relative safety of his side car. Almost as soon as he did, the rusty barb of a harpoon punched through the old sheet metal mere inches from Junkrat’s face. He gave another inarticulate sound of adrenaline-fueled panic, scrambling away from the barb as much as he possibly could in that cramped space. His flesh hand searched around in the pile of random junk that they’d stowed in there with him until his fingers wrapped around a duct tape covered handle.

 The lanky Junker rose up into the hot sun once more, eyes searching for their opponents. He found the dune buggy soon enough, now hanging back behind them a bit. A long rope connected the two vehicles now, one end anchored to the side car by that damned harpoon, and the other end fixed to the trailing dune buggy as it attempted to drag them to a halt. A manic grin spread across Junkrat’s face once more as he raised an old machete above his head, bringing the blade down to sever the rope.

 He let out another yelp as the motorcycle jolted forward and to the left from the newly-released burst of momentum, the edge of his side car slamming into his ribs with a sickening crack as he fell against it. Roadhog was not so caught off guard as his companion, taking advantage of the sudden jolt towards the pursuing Junkers on his side to drive the back of his fist against one of the drivers’ faces. He didn’t bother watching the man wipe out and tumble back into the dirt, instead directing his attention to his wheezing, groaning passenger.

 “You alright, Rat?” he grumbled out, to which Junkrat just waved his concern away, all the while doubled over with his other arm wrapped around his middle. Well, he was alive, at least. That was good enough for now. The dune buggy was starting to catch up to them once more, and Roadhog still had a bastard on a bike to his left. Junkrat managed to get enough wind in him to straighten up a bit, taking a quick look around for anything in the surrounding area that could help them get out of this situation. Soon enough, he spotted it.

 “Over there!” he shouted, pointing ahead to a rocky outcropping. He could just make out a narrow pass through the jagged towers of stone. “Lead ‘em over there! I’ll take ‘em out!”

 Roadhog seemed to catch onto what he was planning almost instantly, giving a nod of his head.

 “I gotta get ahead of ‘em.” he rumbled out, to which Junkrat gave a grunt of acknowledgement as though responding to an order. He ducked into his side car once more, trying his best to stifle a whimper of pain when too much pressure was put on his freshly cracked ribs. He emerged a moment later with one of Roadhog’s Hogdrogen canisters. He then wormed his way between his bodyguard’s arm and thigh, flipping open the cap to the motorcycle’s gas tank before shoving the nozzle of the canister against the opening.

 There was a delay as the gas circulated into the engine before the bike suddenly rocketed forward with a beastly roar. Junkrat found himself pressed back against Roadhog’s belly from the sheer force of the acceleration, but managed to wiggle his way back into his side car before they reached the outcropping. Their pursuers had fallen behind, but they’d catch up soon enough once the Hogdrogen ran its course through their bike’s engine. He quickly retrieved one of his mines, throwing it upward as they passed between two large stone formations, sticking it about halfway up. He then laid back in his seat, counted down under his breath, and pressed the button on his detonator.

 The resulting explosion shook the whole area, and rocks began falling down on them from above as though the whole thing was threatening to come down on their heads. Luckily, the rocks that rained down on the enemy Junkers were significantly larger than the pebbles that pelted the two of them. Junkrat took a quick glance back, grinning wildly when all he saw were twisted limbs and scrap metal sticking out from a pile of fallen boulders.

 They had to stop and make camp shortly after that, mostly because adding Hogdrogen to petrol tended to make the motorcycle overheat quickly. As soon as they stopped, Roadhog made quick work of wrapping up Junkrat’s broken ribs, ignoring how he whined that it was too tight and pretty much manhandling him into sitting still. Rather than sitting and resting as he was told, however, the lanky Junker hopped right back up to his feet once he was all bandaged up and hobbled his way back to his side car. With a pained grunt, he pulled out a large, bulging rucksack – a rucksack that just happened to be decorated with the same patches and symbols that their fallen pursuers wore on their clothes. A coincidence, I’m sure.

 “Now seems like a good time ta enjoy the spoils of war!” Junkrat announced, trying not to look as though he was struggling with the weight of the rucksack with his new injuries. He wasn’t doing a good job of it, but Roadhog humored him for now, pretending not to notice his companion’s breathless struggles as he busied himself with starting a campfire. Junkrat eventually made it back to his side, where he dumped the contents of the sack on the ground between them. It was mostly canned food, almost all of which was surely out of date, by the looks of it. Still, Junkrat puffed his chest out proudly – as much as he could bear, anyway – and stood over the pile as though it were gold.

 “Tonight, Hoggie, we feast like kings!”

 And feast they did. Though it may have been a feast of stale beans and slightly sour-tasting meats, it was still worlds better than what they usually had for dinner; nothing. Junkrat sat with his back resting against Roadhog’s pudgy form for support, picking lightly at a can of old spaghetti-o’s once he’d eaten enough to not be starving. Now that the excitement had died down, his mind tended to go off wandering. Tonight, as usually was the case, his thoughts drifted off in very random directions.

 “Say, Hog… you ever been outside ‘Straya?”

 Roadhog merely grunted in affirmative, his mask still pulled halfway up his face as he shoveled the contents of a can of tuna into his mouth.

 “Where’d ya go? ‘Sides New Zealand, I mean. Don’t count if ya born there.”

 The Junker enforcer tossed the empty can aside once he’d cleaned it out, pulling his mask back down over his mouth.

 “Went on a trip to London in high school.” He explained flatly, to which Junkrat instantly perked up in interest. The younger man often forgot that Roadhog was old enough to remember what it was like before the Australian Omnium blew up. He’d actually gotten to live in a normal society, with schools and everything. Schools weren’t a thing out there anymore, at least not in the irradiated west. Sure, he’d picked up a few books out of the ruins of a school in Perth – Hog even used them to teach him how to read and write – but beyond that, Junkrat had no education.

 “What was it like up there? Do they still got kings an’ queens an’ all that junk? They got any good treasure?” the younger Junker kept firing off question after question before getting an answer to the previous one he’d asked. Still, Roadhog answered at his own pace.

 “It’s… Different. Not like this. A lot cleaner. The royals don’t do much anymore, but… Yeah, they got cool treasure. Got to see the crown jewels while I was there. Woulda been great ta steal ‘em when I had the chance.”

 Even though there wasn’t much information relayed in that brief explanation, Junkrat’s eyes practically sparkled in wonder.

 “Oi, we should go steal ‘em _now_ , mate! Whaddaya say? Ain’t nothin’ left here but scrap, and most o’ that’s been picked through already.”

 Roadhog sat in silence for a moment, mulling the idea over in his head. Then, he gestured over towards the large, tarp-covered object strapped to the back of his motorcycle.

 “What’re we gonna do with that? Might not be a good idea to bring it with us.”

 Junkrat shoved another spoonful of spaghetti-o’s into his mouth, humming lightly to himself in thought. Then, an idea struck him so violently that it nearly made him choke on his food. Once he hacked most of the pasta bits out of his lungs, he raised his spoon triumphantly into the air.

 “I’ve got it! We’ll _hide_ it somewhere!”

 “Oh, bloody brilliant, mate… _Where?_ ” Roadhog asked, not sounding terribly impressed with his companion’s planning thus far. Junkrat gave the larger man a disgruntled growl in response.

 “Oi, don’t you gimmie that! I got a real ripper of a plan, I do! Got the perfect place in mind already! Ain’t no one in their right mind would go poking through there! Good thing _we_ ain’t in our right mind, eh Hog?” he ended by giving Roadhog’s gut a friendly jab with his elbow before bursting into a fit of strained laughter. The Junker Enforcer was still doubtful, but was intrigued nonetheless.

 “Oh yeah? And where’s that?” he asked, waiting for Junkrat’s wheezing laughter to die down enough for him to respond.

 “Wot, it ain’t obvious? C’mon, ya told me about it ages ago! ‘Course I’m talkin’ bout—“

  _‘Kookaburra sits in the ol’ gum tree, merry merry king of the bush is he…’_

 Junkrat looked up with a sharp gasp when that all-too-familiar tune ran across the surface of his mind, coming face to face with the orange visor of Dr. Vaswani. He was back in that apartment in Utopaea once more, a stark contrast to the dusty Outback campsite he’d just been dreaming about. Even though it was quite clear to him that he must have been daydreaming, he slipped a hand under his shirt, pressing his fingers against his ribs. Nope, not broken. His attention then returned to his guest sitting across from him, giving her a lopsided grin.

 “Sorry ‘bout that, mate. Uhh… What were we talkin’ ‘bout?”

 “Nothing of importance. Do not worry.” she replied, giving him a small smile before setting her mug of tea down on the coffee table and getting up from the couch. “Actually, if you’ll excuse me for just a moment…”

 Junkrat merely gave the architect a quick “Sure,” before watching as she made her way towards the bathroom. He then shrugged slightly to himself before turning his attention back to his own mug of tea, which was already nearly empty. He downed the remainder in one big gulp. If nothing else, this Satya lady sure did know how to make a good cuppa!

 

* * *

 

 

 Once she was in the bathroom, Symmetra pressed a small button on the side of her visor. Within moments, the apartment bathroom dissolved into scattered light, and she once more found herself standing in the simulation room in Vishkar’s Research and Development department. Along with the simulation, so too dissolved the architect’s cheery disposition. She shot the technician an impatient glare, marching her way over to his station.

 “It happened again, Janesh. I was kicked out of one of his memories by that blasted song again. This is the _fifth time_. I thought you said you’d fixed that problem.”

 Janesh, looking quite a bit more frazzled than when the project first started, was paying more attention to his computer monitors than the scolding he was getting.

 “I-I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do about it. The computers are treating it like outside stimuli.”

 Symmetra scrunched her nose in displeasure at this excuse, her hand clenching lightly at her side.

 “This is unacceptable. I was literally _one word_ away from learning the location of our target. Can’t you at least bring that memory back? Just the last part. That’s all we need.”

 To this, Janesh finally glanced up from his console to give her an apologetic look, shaking his head.

 “I already told you, we can’t access his memories as simply as pulling up a file in a computer. He has to go through them himself, and they have to be prompted naturally. We can give him a small nudge every now and then, but that’s it. Too much manipulation will shatter the illusion of reality we’ve built up for him so far. If he figures out what’s going on, we’ll never get his cooperation again. Just… be patient and work at it. Look, the readings say he’s already in another memory. Why don’t you hop back in there and see if it’s anything we can use?”

 Symmetra sneered at the technician’s suggestion, but turned back to the simulation projector without another word of argument.

 

* * *

 

 

 Junkrat’s hands clenched tightly around the tattered straps of his backpack as he hobbled his way into the rotting, rundown shack that served as one of Junkertown’s many bars. He kept his head low as he made his way through to the main bar, trying to avoid the stares that came at him from all directions from a diverse cast of ruffians and bandits. He wasn’t doing a great job at making himself inconspicuous. His gait was uneven as ever, and he had to bite his lip to keep from grunting at the increased effort it took to walk with the heavy weight on his back. He knew what it was, in part; he’d waited a little too long to rebuild his prosthetic leg and ended up outgrowing the damned thing. He hated being so short, but he was really starting to hate these seemingly random growth spurts of his. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, though. He hadn’t the time to scavenge for new parts lately. Of course, that was why he’d come to this shithole in the first place.

 A group of men clad in tattered leather stopped their poker game to watch him hobble by their table, and he could already tell they were eyeing the prize he had poorly hidden in the old backpack he carried. He gave them a sneer that he’d hoped looked intimidating, but coming from him it only inspired a bout of raucous laughter from the men. He picked up the pace as much as his aching body would let him once he heard the scrape of chair legs against rough wooden floors behind him. Fuck. They were following him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun them. Not in here. Not like this.

 Instead of making an obviously futile attempt at an escape, Junkrat held his head high and, unlike when he’d entered, tried to make it painfully obvious where he was headed. He knew this new tactic had succeeded when he heard their steps falter as he got closer to the bar. He smirked to himself when he heard them sheepishly scramble back to their poker game.

 His smirk quickly vanished, however, when he focused his attention ahead, spotting what had scared off the other Junkers. There at the bar sat a mountain of a man, his back turned to the rest of the establishment, a large meat hook hanging threateningly from his belt. A curtain of long gray hair draped down over his broad back, but Junkrat could just make out the emblem of the Enforcers stitched into the back of his leather vest through the silver strands. He had to swallow hard at the lump that had suddenly gathered in his throat, his hands clenching tighter around the straps of his pack. Okay, he could do this. He _needed_ to do this. The worst that could happen would be his swift and abrupt murder, and that’s what he faced out in Junkertown anyway, so in some morbid way, he had nothing to lose here.

 “O-oi! Ya Roadhog, ain’tcha?” he called out, cringing slightly to himself at the way his voice cracked. The initial response was little more than a rumbling growl, the man in question never bothering to turn to look at him.

 “Who wants to know?”

 Junkrat couldn’t help but shiver at the low, rolling thunder that was the Junker Enforcer’s voice, his good leg instinctively moving back to prepare to run for his life. No… No, terrified as he may have been – and, let’s be honest, he was about at the point of shitting his damned pants – he had to do this. He couldn’t afford not to. He straightened up as much as he could, putting on a lopsided grin that fooled no one but himself.

 “Ya new boss, that’s who! I’m lookin’ ta hire a bit of muscle. Y’know, a bodyguard. I’m payin’ a fifty-fifty split of all my profits. Whaddaya say, big guy? Ya up for the job?” he asked, trying to sound as confident as possible. A good air of confidence was respected amongst Junkers, even if it was completely unfounded. Cowards didn’t last long in a town like this, especially when they made it obvious. He wasn’t sure if Roadhog was terribly convinced by the act. The man let out a sigh before downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. He then reached up to pull his gasmask down over his mouth, grabbed his hook from his belt, and turned in his seat to face the impudent fucker who dared talk to him like that.

 The Enforcer froze when he saw him, his grip loosening a bit on the handle of his hook. Junkrat recognized that look even through the dark lenses of the man’s gasmask. It was the look of a man who wasn’t expecting to turn around and see that he’d been talking to a twelve-year-old. He got that look a lot. There weren’t many kids in Junkertown, after all. The boy brushed back his messy blond hair from in front of his eyes, trying his best to maintain his façade of confidence even as this titan before him continued to stare down at him.

 Junkrat grew more and more uneasy as the seconds ticked by, and he soon found himself fidgeting uneasily in Roadhog’s looming shadow of intimidation. Finally, he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye, a flash of steel. He snapped his eyes closed, waiting to be disemboweled by that dreaded hook, but the red hot pain never came. He cracked open one eye to see what was going on, just catching sight of that hook as it was replaced back onto its spot on the man’s belt.

 “Alright, kid… I’m in.”


	8. Beware of Spiders

 Junkrat’s hands were clenched so tightly around the frayed hem of Roadhog’s vest that they’d long since gone numb on him, but that was far from his primary concern at the moment. The vibrations from the truly gigantic motorcycle below him rattled him to his core, almost so much that he was starting to fear his rickety prosthetic leg wouldn’t survive the trip much longer, at least if the loose jingling of bolts he could hear were anything to go by. The wind whipped at him so violently that he could hardly keep his eyes open, even though his new bodyguard’s broad form shielded him from the full brunt of it.

 Of course, even if he _could_ open his eyes, there was a fair chance that he’d keep them shut tight anyway. The world was zooming past him at a dizzying speed, and it was enough to make him nauseous if he kept staring at it for long. Roadhog was grumpy enough as it was, and he was quite sure the man would be quite livid with him if he puked all over him or his bike. But really, could you blame him? He’d never been on an actual vehicle like this before, at least not that he could remember. He’d never gone so fast in his life, and never been this exposed to the elements while doing so. It should come as no surprise that he’d be clinging to Roadhog’s back for dear life the entire trip.

 Junkrat was naturally grateful when he felt them start to slow down after several hours of travel. He kept his death-grip on the Junker Enforcer’s vest until they came to a complete stop, and even then Roadhog had to reach behind him and pry the boy off his back. He then tossed him unceremoniously to the ground before dismounting his steaming motorcycle. The boy let out a whiny yelp when he collided with the ground, getting up shakily after a moment to rub at his aching butt.

 “Oi, what’s the big deal? Why’re we stopped?” he grumbled out, folding his scrawny arms across his chest in a huff. Not that he was particularly enjoying the ride, but _he_ was the one that was supposed to be calling the shots here! He didn’t remember telling this big lug to stop! Not that he could work up the courage to give the murderous outlaw an actual order… but that was beside the point!

 Roadhog didn’t bother looking back at the child as he opened one of the saddlebags mounted near his bike’s rear wheel, pulling out an old threadbare rag. He moved up towards the engine, using the rag to shield his hand as he unscrewed the cap to the radiator.

 “Bike’s overheatin’... Fuck!” he cursed aloud, pulling his hand back just before a great burst of steam from the radiator could scald it. He grumbled a few more choice words under his breath as he moved back to his saddlebag, retrieved an old, rotting plastic water canister, and cursed again when he realized it was empty. He glanced back at where Junkrat still stood, tossing the canister at his feet.

 “Make yerself useful and fill that up at the pond over there.” he rumbled out before turning back to his motorcycle. Junkrat stared down at the canister for a moment, giving it a poke with his peg-leg. There he went, bossing him around again… This wasn’t how this whole boss/bodyguard dynamic was supposed to work out, dammit! His bushy eyebrows hunched low over his eyes, his hands setting themselves defiantly on his narrow hips.

 “Why should I?”

 The boy regretted his words before they fully left his lips. Roadhog dropped what he was doing, standing up to his full imposing height and grabbing his hook from his belt. Junkrat let out a squeak that could have just as easily come from an actual rodent, scrambling to scoop up the canister from the ground before the great brute had a chance to attack. This seemed enough to satisfy the man, and he went back to work on his bike.

 Junkrat hobbled off the side of the dirt road towards the pond Roadhog had indicated a moment ago. He grumbled some rather unflattering things about him under his breath, but made sure to keep his voice low enough that he couldn’t be overheard. He came to a stop in front of the pond in question, staring down at the murky water. Parched though he may have been after hours of riding through the desert, that water didn’t appeal to him at all. The only thing filthy little ponds like these were good for was gathering radiation and animal corpses. It wasn’t even fit to be purified, but he supposed it would do for cooling down an engine.

 He knelt at the pond’s edge, submerging the canister under the surface of the toxic soup whilst trying to keep his hands out of the stuff. His nose winkled up in disgust at the greasy bubbles that broke the surface, and he looked away as the container finished filling. As he did, he spotted something that only a scavenging mongrel like himself would find interesting. There was a pile of scrap metal gathered off on the opposite bank of the pond. It was good stuff, too. It looked like mostly discarded Omnic parts from what he could see on the surface. He spat at the ground at the very thought of those robot bastards, but his indoctrinated hatred of them didn’t keep him from acknowledging that their parts sold for premium prices in the scrap market.

 Junkrat glanced back over his shoulder. Roadhog was still busying himself with whatever he was doing with his bike, and he wasn’t exactly calling him back yet… Perhaps he could afford to pop over there for just a second? A few small parts in fair condition would be enough to buy the two of them a bit of decent grub the next time they hit somewhere with a trading post. He decided to go for it, leaving the now-full water canister there on the bank before starting his way around to the other side.

 The scrap pile was as good a one as he’d ever seen. Outer chest plating and cranium casings sat glistening in the orange evening light, a bit sun-bleached but otherwise in great condition. A feral grin spread across the boy’s face, and his sudden overwhelming greed caused him to throw caution to the wayside as he hobbled quickly towards what was sure to be a gold mine.

 It was only when he got within a meter of the pile that his sense of caution kicked back in at full swing, his grin evaporating in an instant. He’d suddenly remembered something very important regarding piles of Omnic scraps just like this one. If the parts looked too good to be true, then it wasn’t just a heap of discarded metal; it was a nest.

 Junkrat scrambled to a stop as quickly as he could, turning on a dime to get the hell out of there, but he was too late. He’d gotten too close. The pile of scrap suddenly seemed to explode outward behind him, several pairs of metal hands reaching out to grasp at his clothes, his hair, his limbs, and anything else they could reach. He was yanked violently backward, his back slamming against the hard metal torso of an Australian scavenger’s worst nightmare. What seemed like a dozen arms closed in around his body, trapping him there and threatening to crush the life out of him.

 “ _S-Spider!!_ ”

 Junkrat instinctively let out as loud of a scream as he could with what air remained in his lungs, but it was all but drowned out by the inhuman screech of the Omnic monstrosity that had him, a noise like a thousand running sawblades piercing at him from just behind his ear. He didn’t get the chance to try to scream again before there was a loud splash, and he found himself suddenly submerged in murky water.

 The instant he felt the burn of the water against his skin, Junkrat began thrashing wildly, trying everything in his power to get away from the creature before it could drag him further down. Panic set in, and he tried to scream again without thinking. He felt the burning water fill his lungs, choking the life out of him. Before he could fully drown, however, he felt himself being violently yanked back up towards the surface of the pond. The Omnic’s grip slipped, but one impossibly strong mechanical hand latched onto his forearm. It squeezed him like a vice, and he could feel the bones in his arm shatter, he could see the streams of red rising in the water from around the rusted orange fingers that held him. The last thing he saw before his vision went dark, however, were three glowing blue dots.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “H-hey, uhhh… How’s it going?”

 Roadhog, though he was sitting, still had to look down when he heard someone hesitantly address him. His mask-obscured eyes soon came to rest on a rather sheepish-looking Lúcio, who of course came with offerings of food for the Junker Enforcer. This had become a regular occurrence over the past few days. Roadhog had staunchly refused to leave Junkrat’s side since they’d brought him back, and that included for necessities like food and sleep. The agents of Overwatch didn’t bother trying to talk him out of it, though whether it was out of understanding or fear he never could tell. Still, they were thoughtful enough to bring him food at mealtimes. He could appreciate that, at least.

 He didn’t bother answering the young DJ as he took the plate from his hands. The question was a redundant one. So long as Junkrat remained comatose, everyone knew good and well how Roadhog was faring. After a long moment of painfully awkward silence, Lúcio realized he wasn’t going to be striking up a conversation with the man anytime soon. He politely excused himself before zooming out of the medical wing, leaving the outlaw to himself once more.

 Roadhog let out a sigh before setting the plate of food off to the side. It didn’t feel right, sitting there and eating a meal while his charge was stuck lying helplessly in a hospital bed. Old habit, he told himself. He never did eat unless he’d made sure Junkrat had had enough for himself first. Honestly, he just didn’t want to admit to himself just how much it hurt to see the little scrapper like this, all but dead lying in front of him. Of course, it must have been obvious, even to those Overwatch drongos. The thought prompted a quiet, bitter bark of laughter from him. To think, someone like him getting so torn up over some mad cripple. You’d hardly believe, looking at them now, that he’d nearly left the little bastard to die out there in the bush on his first day on the job.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Roadhog had been perfectly content to let that little brat run off and do his own thing. Yeah, he did kinda need that water, but he’d mostly sent Junkrat off to get him the hell out of his hair. That scrawny mongrel just didn’t know when the hell to shut up. He’d learned more about that boy in the first hour of his trip than he’d ever cared to know. Even the roar of his engine hadn’t been enough to drown out the incessant rambling in his ear. In fact, he’d gotten so annoyed by it that the pre-teen was probably only alive now due to the Junker Enforcer’s happy discovery that, if he went fast enough, the brat finally clammed the hell up. He’d been pushing his speed a little higher than he might normally, but this minor setback it caused was more than worth the few hours of silence it had gained him.

 Unfortunately, even though his young charge had wandered off and left him well enough alone for a bit, the delightful silence didn’t last long.

 “ _S-Spider!!_ ”

 If that panicked scream wasn’t enough to get the man’s attention, the ungodly mechanical screech that followed certainly did the trick. Roadhog’s eyes widened instinctively behind the lenses of his mask as he whipped around to search out the source of the commotion. It didn’t take him long to spot it. Junkrat was on the other side of the pond he’d sent him off to, kicking and screaming against a tangle of robotic limbs as they grasped and tore wildly at him.

 They called them Spiders. They were once Omnics, the very bastards that had been gifted the Australian Omnium before it blew. After it was destroyed, the survivors soon showed their true faces. Driven mad by radiation and decaying neural circuitry, they became feral scavengers, wandering around the wastes, gathering the bodies of their fallen comrades, and attaching every salvageable limb to their own bodies until they looked like some monstrous, spider-like amalgamates. Judging from how many limbs this one had collected, it was clear it was very good at what it did. It also meant it was especially aggressive.

 Roadhog bolted forward, taking off at full sprint towards the scuffle, his hook at the ready. The Spider saw him approaching, turning it’s three glowing eyes his way before immediately diving into the murky pond, dragging Junkrat down with it. His body moved before his mind had time to think, his hook sailing through the air and down into the pond. He yanked back on the chain and found that he’d managed to hook something, though he couldn’t tell what it was. He gave another yank, and a small figure flew from the pond towards him, his hook fixed securely around the boy’s waist, followed immediately by that horrid mechanical monster.

 The Junker Enforcer managed to catch his charge in one large arm, his free hand shooting forward to grab hold of the wiry robot that still clung to Junkrat’s right arm. The Omnic let out another static-filled screech, it’s many hands clawing and tearing at the gigantic flesh one that now held it in its crushing grasp. Roadhog forced the tin can to the ground before driving the heel of his boot against its skull, popping its head like an over-ripe melon. Only then did it cease its futile clawing, and only then did it release Junkrat’s arm.

 Even though it was dead, Roadhog put a bit of distance between himself and the Omnic’s corpse before he lowered the boy’s still form down to the ground. He noticed fairly quickly that he wasn’t breathing. Oh great. Now on top of everything, he had a literal drowned rat to deal with. He did the only thing he could think of to help; driving a fist squarely into the boy’s sternum. Much to his surprise, Junkrat immediately coughed up what had to be a full liter of filthy water, drawing in a deep breath as though it was the first one he’d been able to take in his life.

 Roadhog allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief as the kid continued to gasp in deep breaths of air, occasionally sputtering against the lingering fluid in his lungs. Well, at least the brat was alive. He could mark that down as some small victory. Then again, now that he took another good look at him…

 Junkrat was technically conscious, though his eyes stared up blankly from the shock to his body. He had a good chunk of hair missing where the Spider had ripped it out, his scalp dripping blood. Of course, that was nothing compared to his arm. His entire right forearm was a mangled mess of torn flesh and shattered bone, a puddle of crimson starting to gather in the dirt where he lay. Roadhog’s shoulders drooped slightly at the sight of it. He was no doctor by any means, but he could tell just by looking that there’d be no patching that mess back together. Add to that the almost guaranteed infection he’d get from having that filthy water in his wound, and the kid was pretty much buzzard bait.

 Roadhog rose to his feet with a grunt, idly wiping his blood-stained hand on the back of his pants. Well, that had to be one of the shortest jobs he’d ever accepted. Not that he’d ever sold himself as the bodyguard type, but he didn’t expect the kid to go and fuck himself up like this on the first day out. It wasn’t his problem. The little pissant should have known a Spider nest when he saw one, especially if he collected scrap metal for a living like he’d said.

 Of course, now that he gave it some thought, there wasn’t really any downside to having failed this job. He no longer had to deal with some stubborn kid, and he had the kid’s ‘treasure’ all to himself. Hell, given the circumstances, failing might have been the better deal anyway. Resigning himself to the fact that the little bastard was a goner, he made his way back to his bike, fully intending to leave him there to rot.

 Were it not for the fact that his motorcycle was still too overheated to go anywhere, Roadhog would have taken off down the road right then and there. As it stood, he still had to fill up his radiator and wait for his engine to cool a bit. That meant he had to linger nearby, the still form of that twelve-year-old boy lying in the dirt always within viewing distance. He tried not to look at him. That’s what had gotten him in this damned mess in the first place; he’d seen some pathetic little street urchin and gave into some lingering scrap of pity he still held for someone like that. And just where had that pity gotten the kid? He was left dying in a ditch in the middle of nowhere, no one in the whole damn world giving a single shit about him.

 Roadhog’s leg soon started bouncing restlessly as he sat in the saddle of his motorcycle, his eyes glued to the temperature gauge, suddenly very eager to get the hell out of there and outrun any second thoughts that might creep up on him. It wasn’t his problem anymore. No one was anyone else’s problem out here in the wastelands. It was everyone for themselves, and if you weren’t tough enough to make it on your own, you died. That kid just wasn’t tough enough. That’s just how it worked. No need for him to feel guilty about it.

 Then again… _She’d_ have been about that kid’s age if she was still alive…

 The thought hit him like a damned knife in the back. no… _No_ , Goddammit! Those thoughts were off-limits! Those were the thoughts of a man he’d buried behind a mask ages ago. They were _not_ the thoughts of Roadhog. He wouldn’t let himself be dragged back into that misery. Not again…

 “God fuckin’ dammit, kid…” he growled to himself under his breath as he hoisted himself up off his bike, making his way reluctantly back to where Junkrat still lay.

 There was hardly any sunlight left by the time Roadhog had built up a decent campfire. He already had his entrenching shovel setting against it, the metal head of which was resting in the flames to heat up. He knelt at the boy’s side, shaking him lightly to make sure he was still alive. Junkrat let out a weak grunt, though his vacant eyes stared up at nothing. Good enough. The Junker Enforcer reached behind him, plucking a small circular flask from his belt. He unscrewed the cap, just catching a whiff of the foul swill that passed for gin in these parts. He lifted the kid’s head up with one massive hand, pressing the flask to his lips.

 “Drink.” He ordered gruffly, though he was unsure if he could be heard at the moment. Junkrat choked a bit at first, but eventually swallowed a mouthful of the Outback moonshine. Roadhog was mildly impressed. He wished he’d handled his first taste of that crap so well. He splashed what little remained over the boy’s bloody scalp, earning him a hiss of pain. He then laid the boy back down to let the alcohol take its full affect. That was the easy part done. Now for the hard part.

 His attention drifted down to that mangled arm. He already had a strip of torn cloth tied tightly around it as a makeshift tourniquet just above where the damage stopped. Crude, but it did the job. It kept him from bleeding out, at least. He pulled the limb out to lay perpendicular to the boy’s body, making sure he couldn’t accidentally get more than just his arm. It would be a waste going through all this just to inadvertently kill him anyway. He grabbed hold of the machete he’d set off to the side, noting that the handle was starting to get a little loose on him. Oh well. A little duct tape would fix that, but he’d worry about it later. Roadhog braced his free hand on Junkrat’s shoulder as he raised the blade above his head.

 The cut was swift and clean, going all the way through the first time. Junkrat let out a small shout, but his senses were dulled enough by the alcohol and shock-induced delirium that he didn’t put up a fight about it. Roadhog doubted the kid would even remember this part, he was so out of it. That was for the best, he supposed. Especially since the worst part was yet to come.

 He tossed the amputated limb off to the side before reaching over to grab his shovel out of the fire. He wrapped his fingers firmly around the boy’s scrawny upper arm, holding it with as much force as he dared without snapping it like the twig it was. He then braced his arm across the boy’s chest to keep him planted against the ground as he pressed the back of the red-hot shovelhead against the end of that bloody stump.

 That action seemed to snap Junkrat back to the world of the living. A loud scream tore from his throat, his eyes snapped open, wide and alert. He thrashed wildly under Roadhog’s hold, his one remaining hand clawing desperately at the gigantic, immovable arm that pinned him to the ground. The man did his best to tune it all out, to ignore the screams, ignore the putrid smoke rising from where hot metal pressed against exposed muscle, ignore the scent of burning flesh that managed to seep through his mask’s filters. Only when he was sure it was enough did he pull the shovel away.

 Junkrat dissolved into a twitching, sobbing mess after that, tears and snot running freely down his filthy little face where just a moment ago he hadn’t the energy to cry. Even so, Roadhog doubted the boy was aware enough at the moment to fully register what had occurred. All he knew just then was pain, and he reacted to it as any child his age might. The Junker Enforcer let out a sigh, trying his best to look away. There were those damned feelings again, creeping up where they shouldn’t. Guilt. Pity. Something else. Something he hadn’t felt in so long that he didn’t know what to call it anymore. He was too exhausted from the day’s events to fight it anymore.

 He reached behind his head, unbuckling his mask.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Roadhog was brought back to the present when the beeping of Junkrat’s heart monitor suddenly increased in frequency. He looked down at the younger man in concern, watching as his face scrunched up in what almost seemed to be distress, his teeth gritting under his oxygen mask, his hand clenching tightly at the bed sheets. It almost looked as though he were having a nightmare. Though it was a rare sign of movement from his abnormally still companion, Roadhog hated to see him like that.

 The Junker Enforcer took a quick look around the room, checking to make sure Mercy wasn’t fluttering about. Once he was sure they were alone, he reached over to run his hand gently through the younger man’s hair in an effort to calm him. He leaned down, his mask inches from his companion’s ear, and, as softly as his ragged voice would allow, began to sing.

“Kookaburra sits in the ol’ gum tree,  
Merry merry king of the bush is he.  
Laugh, Kookaburra, laugh, Kookaburra,  
Gay your life must be.”


	9. Welcome to My Reality

“Kookaburra sits in the ol’ gum tree,  
Merry merry king of the bush is he.  
Laugh, Kookaburra, laugh, Kookaburra,  
Gay your life must be.”

 Junkrat’s mind was lost in a fog of lingering pain, but even so, that song managed to cut through it all. He knew that old tune, though he hadn’t heard it in years. Not since before everything went to hell, back when he still had parents. He could just barely remember the voice of the man who used to sing it to him when he was small, though he couldn’t for the life of him recall his face anymore.

 The voice that sang to him now was different than the one he remembered. It was a lot deeper, far gruffer, but soothing in its own right. Slowly, as the fog in his head began to clear, the new voice started overriding the old in his memories.

 The first thing he noticed as he regained consciousness was the smell. The heavy, hot odor of leather, sweat, and some strange chemical bit sharply at his nostrils, the latter almost making him choke. When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring up through a pair of dark, wideset lenses.

 The oversized mask engulfing his face occupied his attention for but a moment, as what lay beyond it proved far more intriguing. A large man loomed overhead, long silver hair falling down over his shoulders. Dark eyes stared down at him from a broad, pudgy face lined by black scruff that was rapidly turning gray, a faraway look fixed in them. Most prominent, however, were the intricate, swirling black lines tattooed across his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

 Without even thinking, Junkrat lifted a hand up, the motion causing the man to abruptly stop singing once he noticed the boy in his arms was awake. He pulled a hand away from the mask, taking with it some strange yellow canister. He then sat motionless as the young Junker traced a finger along one of the swirls on his cheek.

 “Cool…” he mumbled out, his voice echoing strangely behind that leather mask. Roadhog looked surprised at first before looking away almost bashfully. Still, he made no attempt to stop the boy from exploring his Ta Moko. He knew how rare they were to see, especially this far West away from New Zealand. Junkrat had probably never seen anything like them in his life.

 Junkrat’s curiosity certainly seemed to support that idea. He was absolutely enthralled by the facial markings, his finger slowly tracing over each swirling line one after the other. It was all that seemed to occupy his mind at the moment, even blocking out the lingering pain in his arm. It wasn’t until he attempted to reach up with his other hand that reality started to finally penetrate through the haze of alcohol and Hogdrogen.

 The boy’s eyes widened behind the lenses of the gasmask as he suddenly found himself staring up at not his own right hand, but a feeble stump where it had previously been, all wrapped up in dingy, bloody bandages. All at once, the previous twenty-four hours came rushing back to him. The men at the bar, the ride through the desert. The pond. The Spider. The blood. The burning.

 Junkrat filled his lungs with as much air as his battered body would allow, and released it all in one horrified scream.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Oww! What the hell..?” Lúcio mumbled to himself as a sharp burst of static exploded in his earpiece, cutting through the constant droning of his music and making his ears ring slightly. It made him stop in his tracks as he traveled down the hall, his hand moving up to rip his headset from his face. He stared down at it until the static died down, his music retuning to the foreground once more.

 The young DJ furrowed his brows down at the device, examining it in utter confusion. This hadn’t been the first time that happened, though this was one of the louder outbursts his equipment had given him. He’d been getting interference like that for the past few weeks, though it mostly kept itself to background noise more than anything. Annoying, but not concerning. Not until the past few days.

 At first he hadn’t been sure if the static was growing in intensity or if it just seemed that way because he’d been noticing it more, but this pretty much confirmed the former. But why was that? He’d already taken his sonic amplifier apart twice looking for damage or defects, already screened the programing for bugs, yet everything seemed to be in proper working order. If it wasn’t his equipment causing the problems, what could it be?

 Lúcio turned down towards one of the lesser-used halls and sat himself against the wall there, replacing his headset over his ear once more. He was going to figure this out one way or the other. He could already hear the soft crackle of static behind his music if he listened for it. He started by cutting his music altogether. The static remained. Well, it wasn’t his tunes getting corrupted. That was a relief at least. Of course, now that it was isolated, the static itself almost seemed to have a tune to it as well. Was he picking up an outside signal? That was odd. He thought he’d blocked out commercial radio wavelengths.

 He then started fiddling with the tuning on his device, trying to get the signal to come in clearer. His equipment had never meant to be some glorified radio, but he did eventually get it to come through clearly enough to pick out muddled words.

 ‘—ol’ gum tree, merry—….. –bush—…. –ookaburra, laugh, Kookabur—‘

 The short burst of clarity in the signal only managed to raise more questions than it had answered. Why in the hell was he getting some old Australian nursery rhyme playing over his headset? Where was it coming from? And why was his the only device that seemed to be picking it up? No other equipment in the base was getting this interference, not even simple radios.

 Lúcio was pulled from his thoughts when a few more coherent bits could be heard in the static. It wasn’t singing anymore, just normal human speech, but it was coming through so sporadically that he could hardly tell what the voice was saying. His was clearly not the device this signal was intended for. Even so, he could tell a few things about whoever it was that was speaking now. It was a male voice, as was the one that had been singing earlier, though this one was nowhere near as deep. Even with the severe fragmentation, he could still pick out a very distinct accent in it. British? No, not quite. More like…

 “Woah, hold on a minute…” he thought aloud, turning up the volume on his headset despite the grating static. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear that was _Junkrat’s_ voice. But that was impossible! He was still in a coma!

 Before Lúcio could wonder further on what was happening, a new voice came through the static. This one was female. She, too, had a distinct accent, though a very different one. Perhaps… Hindi? It was at that point when Lúcio realized that he recognized _this_ voice as well. It was a voice he could never forget, one that pulled him right back to his beginning days as a revolutionary activist in his hometown of Rio.

 The answers came to him in such a flood that it practically propelled him back up onto his feet and back down the hall at a breakneck pace.

 

* * *

 

 

 Symmetra let out an exasperated sigh as she marched her way down towards the Research and Development department for what felt like the millionth time. It was hard to believe she’d only been working on this project for a few weeks. It felt like she’d been diving through that maniac’s brain for a year now. An unconscious shudder rippled down her body. Jamison himself wasn’t so bad – once she’d established his more civilized persona, at least. It was his memories that made her skin crawl. The utter filth of that Junkertown place… Even if it was a simulation, she still felt like she had to shower for hours after having to go through it all, and from that grime-covered man’s perspective to boot!

 There was no more time to dwell on it for now, though. It was time to get back to work. She stood for a moment just outside of the sensor range of the simulation room door. Once more unto the breach, as it were. She took a deep breath, put on her usual confident face and stepped through the door.

 “Good morning, Janesh. Is everything—“

 Symmetra stopped herself mid-greeting as she entered the room proper and caught sight of her co-worker. Janesh was laying slumped over his console and snoring lightly. A small, displeased frown crossed her face. Of all the irresponsible… She marched her way over to him and gave his shoulder a firm shake.

 “Janesh! Wake up!”

 Janesh sat bolt upright in his chair, waking with a start before staring up at her with wide eyes.

 “S-sorry! Amar didn’t show up for his shift, so I was called in early. I hardly got any sleep.”

 Symmetra narrowed her eyes down at him, not entirely satisfied with his excuse. Besides, there was drool on the side of his face. It was unseemly.

 “The simulation is not to be run without someone monitoring it at all times. We cannot risk the subject becoming aware of what’s going on, not when we’re so close.”

 “S-sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

 “See to it that it doesn’t.” And with that, she made her way past his station and onto the projection pad in the center of the room. She could hear Janesh hastily typing behind her, followed by the hum of the simulation device below her as it warmed itself up to start. Just before everything whited out, however…

 “W-wait! Something’s wrong! Jump off the pad! Get ou—“

 Janesh’s voice cut out just as she turned back to look his way, but the sterile interior of Vishkar Corp. had already faded. What’s worse, what replaced it was not the equally sterile walls of a Utopaea apartment building. The layout was the same, but the architecture was archaic and dilapidated. Garish floral wall paper, stained a rusty brown from what looked like years of water damage and neglect, peeled down off the walls to reveal rotting wooden boards. The window at the far end of the hall was broken, patched up with rusted scraps of corrugated metal wrapped in barbed wire. She could see nothing but a dismal gray sky through the gaps. A single, old-fashioned light bulb dangled from the ceiling by an exposed wire, it’s feeble yellow glow made all the more uncertain by it’s constant flickering.

 Her entire body stiffened at once, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides. It hadn’t been more than twelve hours since she’d last been inside the simulation. How could it all have changed this much in such a short amount of time? Furthermore, how did the security protocols not detect tampering of this magnitude and work to correct it immediately? Paralyzing though her current surroundings may have been for her, Symmetra willed her hand to move, bringing it up to activate her earpiece.

 “Deactivate the simulation immediately! Pull me out of here! Janesh? Janesh, can you hear me?!”

 Her near-desperate cries were answered only by a faint hum of static over the earpiece. Her hand slowly lowered from it, now trembling openly. She was cut off from the outside. But _how?!_ How could it all have fallen apart like this so quickly?! Jamison had only been left unmonitored for a few hours at most! Could some bumbling idiot like that really be capable of interfering with such a sophisticated program, and from the _inside?_ Her answer came in the form of a man’s voice, sharp and grating, echoing through the dark halls of the building, singing slowly, viciously, and slightly off-key.

 “Kookaburra sits in the ol’ gum tree,  
Merry merry king of the bush is he.  
Laugh, Kookaburra, laugh, Kookaburra,  
_Never shoulda fucked with me!_ ”

 The last line was hissed out with particularly strong malice behind it, enough that Symmetra took an instinctual step backward, as if her antagonizer were within arm’s reach of her. It didn’t help that she got a reaction to the move, as though the man really could see her genuinely frightened demeanor. A crazed cackle echoed through the building, sharp, loud, and forceful enough that it sounded a bit strained towards the end.

 “Aww, what’s wrong, Satie? Didn’t yer mum ever tell ya it’s dangerous ta go pickin’ around in the head of a mad cunt?! You’re in _my_ world now, bitch!”

 Symmetra clenched her jaw tightly as the madman’s laughter continued to ring in her ears for a moment before finally fading away to an eerie silence. So it _was_ him after all. That still left the question of _how_ , though. It was a question that needed to be answered, and she was sure it would lead to some clue as to fix all of this. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the unease and disgust still clinging to her. She just had to look around a bit. Surely there were some answers to be found.

 She took an uneasy step forward, flinching as the floorboards creaked underfoot, a puff of orange desert dust scattering about from around her shoes. This really was his world now. Now that she thought of it, everything about this environment reminded her of the buildings she’d seen in Junkrat’s memories of Junkertown, right down to the decay and layers of filth. Could this be a reaction to being forced into such an unfamiliar, sterile environment for so long? A pushback from his psyche desperately needing something familiar and controllable in a situation where he could control nothing? It was all speculation at this point, which could probably wait for another time.

 She continued down the hall, working mostly from memory as she navigated the sporadic near-darkness. It was technically still the same building as before, but Junkrat seemed to have found a way to drastically alter the way the surface looked. Luckily he hadn’t put any real barriers between her and where his apartment had been. In fact, as evidence by the sloppy yellow graffiti of a disturbing, grinning smiley face painted on his door, he didn’t exactly seem that keen on staying hidden.

 She reached out to take the handle, but hesitated before grabbing it. It wasn’t the clear layer of rust and grime covering it – though surely that was a part of it. What kind of traps could a man like this have waiting for her in there? Explosives wired to the door? Or was he simply waiting on the other side for her? Then again, did it matter? What trap could he set in here that could actually hurt her? She might not be able to disconnect from the simulation right now, but at the end of the day that’s all it was. A simulation. She wasn’t _really_ there. She couldn’t really be hurt.

 With this fresh assurance in mind, she pushed the door open and stepped into the apartment living room. It was just as run-down in here as it had been out in the halls. The light hanging from the ceiling barely worked, flickering ominously every now and then. The couches were faded and torn, rusted metal springs showing through a patchwork of sloppy duct tape repair work. She didn’t dare look across towards the kitchen. What interested her immediately, however, was the coffee table in the center of it all. She walked around the couch to get a better look.

 The rotting and broken wooden table was covered completely by dozens of scraps of paper. They looked as though they’d been arranged randomly and haphazardly, overlapping and set at odd angles to one another, much to Symmetra’s distaste. Yet, even though it may have appeared a chaotic mess at first, a consistent design shown across the makeshift collage. It was an oddly abstract collection of geometric shapes drawn hastily in pencil and darkly filled in, creating something that almost resembled a blown-up image of random black and white pixels. At first, she was deeply confused. Why draw out something like this? Boredom? Or did it perhaps mean something?

 After dwelling on it for a long moment, she nearly discarded the whole thing as the mad scribblings of a crazy man. After all, what else could it be? Except, just as she moved to step past the coffee table, she realized that the design looked very familiar. She’d seen something like this before. All over the place, actually, now that she thought about it. She looked back down at it, her eyes widening as she saw it from a slightly different angle. It wasn’t random or haphazard. Far from it. Every line, every little square, was extremely deliberate in its positioning. She suddenly realized that what she’d been staring at was a giant, hand-drawn QR code.

 _This_ was how he’d done it. That crazy idiot had managed to _draw_ a computer virus. It must have infected the system during one of the regular security sweeps. The computer, detecting a slight change, had scanned the image and immediately ran the embedded code the image represented. What’s more, he seemed to have drawn it out modularly so the computer couldn’t detect pieces of malicious code before it was finished, at which point he would put it all together to be read. She truly hated to admit it, but it was absolutely brilliant. She couldn’t imagine having come up with such a method of attack were she in such a position.

 “Dammit!” she hissed, dashing back to the table and hastily scattering the papers from it. As she did so, a mocking laugh rang in her ears.

 “Ah-ah-ah! C’mon now, Satie! If you know what that mess is, then ya gotta know it’s already too late for all that. The damage is already done to yer fancy li’l video game. There ain’t nothing yer buddies out there can do ta help ya. It’s just _you an’ me_ now.”

 Symmetra cursed under her breath, but she knew he was right. There wasn’t much she could do about it but wait for Janesh and the others to fix the problem from the outside. She would be trapped in this simulation until then, or until they decided the project was unsalvageable and pulled the plug on the whole damn thing. Either way, there was just one thing left for her to do here on the inside.

 She straightened up and turned towards the direction the mad Junker’s voice had come from. She found herself staring towards his office door, which was left open just a crack. She headed for the door, throwing it open fearlessly and dashing in.

 The office seemed to be more of a mess than all the rest of the building. All of the books had been torn down from the shelves and piled haphazardly on the floor below them. The walls, though equally as rotted out as all the rest, were unique in that they were also covered in the same graffiti she’d seen on the apartment door. The back wall looked as though it had been blown out, now patched up with splintering wooden boards. Most unsettling, however, was the room’s lone occupant.

 Jamison Fawkes was crouched on top of the desk, hunched over and grinning like a hungry ghoul. His eyes stared wide and crazed from behind the cracked, grimy lenses of his glasses. His clothes were torn and covered in filth, his lab coat now stained a dull, patchy gray. His hair was a wild and tangled mess, with patches now missing as though he’d yanked it out in clumps. She could just barely make out smears of what looked like blood across his head and hair, with smatters of it peppered on his clothes. Symmetra clenched her fists at her sides, trying not to let the man’s sudden devolved appearance startle her too much.

 “How long have you known?” she asked, keeping her voice as calm and even as possible. There was no dancing around the subject any longer. It was painfully clear that he was aware of their scheme. Junkrat let another burst of crazed laughter bubble up to the surface, shaking his head at the audacity of such a question.

 “Yer kiddin’, roight? I can’t think of how you wankers coulda made it more obvious. I just spent… What? Three weeks? Three bloody weeks without a wink of sleep, and I ain’t even a li’l tired! Now, I ain’t a stranger ta insomnia, but I know my limits. I usually pass the fuck out by the end of the fourth day, yet here I am; wide awake an’ not even a _bit_ loopier than usual!”

 The Junker paused in his feverish ramblings long enough to hop down off the desk and take a few steps her way. He then pointed an accusatory finger her way, at which point she noticed a drop of blood drip from the heel of his palm.

 “An’ then there’s _you!_ You come in ‘ere an’ ya feed me that damned _tea_ of yers! Ya think I wouldn’t notice those convenient li’l trips down memory lane I took, and _only_ when you were around? I bet you were watching the whole damn time, weren’t ya?! You sick fucks! You worm your way inta my head, poke yer way through all my fucking memories, probably laughing at me the whole fucking time, weren’t ya?! An’ you think I don’t know what the fuck you cunts were lookin’ for?! I might be mad, but I sure as fuck ain’t stupid!”

 Symmetra found herself stepping back as Junkrat became more and more visibly enraged the more he continued on his rant. She knew she couldn’t be hurt here, but having a very angry, very crazy six-and-a-half-foot man stalking after you was enough to put anyone on edge.

 “That shit you saw? That was fucking personal! This might sound a li’l clichéd at this point, but you’d better believe me when I say I’ve killed fuckers for less!”

 “And just what do you plan to do about it? How are you expecting to kill me? I know for a fact there aren’t any weapons programmed into this simulation. You’re unarmed.” Symmetra shot back, trying to sound as in control as possible even as her heart pounded away in her chest. Rather than becoming even more enraged at the taunting, however, Junkrat burst out laughing.

 “Still haven’t figured that part out, have ya? How do ya think I did all this ‘redecorating?’”

 Symmetra furrowed her brow at that. What did he mean? Was all this not part of the virus he planted in the system? Had he had the forethought to somehow program in a weapon as well? No, that was impossible. That code couldn’t hold that much data. Junkrat seemed amused at her confusion, his grin widening. Then, he lifted up his right hand, showing her his palm.

 Embedded into the center of his palm, blood still seeping from around the edges and down his arm, was the trinket that had been on the corner of his desk.  It was only meant to display decorative light constructs, but it looked like he’d somehow managed to modify it into something akin to the photon projector she wore in the palm of her own glove. But that would mean…

 “W-wait… you can’t be suggesting that you made all of this out of hard light! Learning to weave constructs takes _years_ of study unless you’re some sort of prodigy! How could you have possibly learned while locked away in here?!”

 Junkrat let out another amused giggle, bringing his hands together and miming the motions of a sculptor molding clay. The photon projector responded as it would if she herself was wielding it and, although his movements and gestures were far less elegant than her own, an object quickly began taking shape.

 “Same way I learn anything; trial and error!”

 There was hardly more warning than that before Junkrat lunged ferociously at her. She let out a shout, diving to the side to get out of his path of attack. She looked back up at the spot where she’d stood a moment before, just catching sight of the large knife that had embedded itself in the wall right where her head had been. The crazed man let out a grunt as he wrenched the blade out of the wall, turning towards her with a feral grin.

 “Y’know, ain’t often I decide ta take someone out without explosives, but what you did hit close ta home… ‘bout as close as I’m fuckin’ about ta hit _you!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the long delay between chapters. The final confrontation between Symmetra and Junkrat was giving me trouble for ages. I'd rewritten it several times, but it never felt right. Luckily, I was struck with a fresh bit of inspiration lately and managed to write something I'm pretty happy with. Hopefully I'll be able to continue writing more regularly and finish this story out in the next few months. Thank you all for being so patient!


	10. Destroying the Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to make a note to everyone reading this whole thing all at once that everything before this chapter was written well before the official Junkertown content came out, particularly the "Wasted Land" comic. I'm well aware that the way Junkrat and Roadhog met in this story, while surprisingly close to canon, is not correct. I have no plans on revising it to match canon. You may consider this an alternate history if you wish.

“Y’know, ain’t often I decide ta take someone out without explosives, but what you did hit close ta home… ‘bout as close as I’m fuckin’ about ta hit _you!_ ”

 Symmetra let out a yelp as Junkrat lunged at her once again with that knife of his. She tried as best she could to scramble backwards from where she lay on the floor, but her back soon hit a wall. Cornered and with nowhere to go, she was reduced to little more defense than shielding her face with her arms and snapping her eyes shut. The only thing she could do now was brace for the inevitable impact of the madman’s blade.

 “Satya? Satya, can you hear me? Are you alright?”

 The familiar voice was enough to make Symmetra’s heart skip a beat. That was Janesh’s voice! Had he managed to reestablish communications? Could he have weeded out the virus that Junkrat had infected the system with? She decided it was worth taking the chance to open her eyes and see for herself.

 Much to her surprise, what she saw before her was not the rotting interior of Junkrat’s warped Utopaea apartment, but clean, sterile walls of the simulation room at Vishkar Corp. She watched as Janesh rushed around his control station and onto the simulation pad, kneeling down and placing a stabilizing hand on her shoulder to help her sit up.

 “What happened? Did you cut the simulation feed?” she asked, though, despite everything that had just happened, she couldn’t hide the note of disappointment in her voice. To cut the simulation entirely was to sacrifice the connection with their subject’s brain. Though the mission was clearly unsalvageable, admitting failure never felt good. Janesh, however, shook his head in response.

 “It wasn’t me. The simulation cut out due to disconnection on the other end. The nano-machines in the subject’s brain aren’t responding anymore. They must have found some way to destroy them.”

 Symmetra furrowed her brow in thought. Could it have been that nurse, the one that was working with Overwatch? She wouldn’t have guessed that woman would have been capable of detecting their nano-machines, much less destroy them without killing the host. Well, whatever happened, she couldn’t help but feel mildly grateful for the timing of it all.

 

* * *

 

 

“Y’know, ain’t often I decide ta take someone out without explosives, but what you did hit close ta home… ‘bout as close as I’m fuckin’ about ta hit _you!_ ”

 Junkrat stared down his prey as she scrambled backward across the floor in a feeble attempt to escape. He continued to stalk after her, knife raised and at the ready. He would make her pay for everything she’d put him through in here. Every memory, every private moment of his past that she had poked her nose into… He would make her pay for each and every one.

 He saw his chance when the woman’s back hit the wall. He lunged at her, aiming to sink his blade into whatever he could reach first. He let out a feral roar, his rage boiling over to the point of obscuring his vision. The next thing he felt was his hand striking forcefully against flesh.

 “Ow!! Man, what the hell?!”

 Junkrat sat there for a moment – and he was suddenly sitting, which struck him as odd – and blinked his eyes hard several times in an effort to clear his still blurry vision. He could already tell this wasn’t the derelict apartment he’d fashioned for himself in the simulation. The room was clean, but not overly sterile like Utopaea had been, and he could hear a faint beeping that seemed to go along perfectly with his own heartbeat. He could feel something strapped over his face, reflecting his hot breath back over his nose and mouth. He raised a hand to try to take whatever it was off, but what greeted him was his feeble, naked stump of an arm.

 “Jamie!”

 That single, gruffly-spoken word was enough to melt away his lingering rage and newfound confusion. Sure enough, there was Roadhog standing next to the bed he was in, his bulky form leaning over him a bit, eyes searching him over from behind dark lenses to make sure he was okay.

 “Mako!” he squeaked out, his voice a bit rough from having not used it for several weeks. Even so, he didn’t hesitate to fling his arms around the Junker Enforcer’s neck, pulling him into a tight, clingy hug. Roadhog didn’t fight it, which was just how Junkrat preferred it right now. His muscles ached and his head was still in a bit of a fog, but he was determined not to let go of the man even if it killed him.

 “Are you alright? Come here a moment, it could be broken…”

 The sound of a woman’s voice speaking in a heavy German accent was enough to avert a fraction of his attention away from his bodyguard, though he still clung to him the same way a baby koala might cling to its mother. He turned his head to peek back over his shoulder at the slight commotion going on behind him on the other side of the bed. Mercy was currently trying to get a rather disgruntled Lúcio to take his hand from over his nose. The reason why became quite clear when he noticed the thin streams of blood leaking down his arm.

 “Oi, what happened ta you?” Junkrat asked casually. Lúcio turned towards him with the closest thing to a scowl he could manage, his hand still clamped tightly over the middle of his face.

 “Ya punched me in the damn face, man!”

 “Oh. Shouldn’ta been in the way of my fist then, should ya?”

 This rather flippant response left the poor DJ grasping for some way to retort, but nothing came to him, leaving him with his mouth agape with inarticulate noises escaping in place of any argument. Mercy took that opportunity to step in and offer an explanation for everything.

 “Jamison, Lúcio’s the one who woke you up from your coma. The Vishkar Corporation infected you with some sort of nano-machines that kept you unconscious. That’s what was in that dart you were shot with. Since his sonic amplifier is based on similar technology, he—“

 “Okay, yeah, I lost ya at nano-whatever. Look ya got any grub? I feel like I ain’t eaten in weeks!”

 

* * *

 

 

 The following week saw things rapidly fall back into some semblance of normalcy – or, at least as normal as life around two Junkers could be, anyway. Roadhog was seen out and about a little more, especially after Junkrat was able to get up and about again. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t _supposed_ to be just yet. Mercy had wanted him to stay in bed for the most part, but trying to argue with the restless madman was an impossible task. Not even the lack of his peg leg deterred him from defying doctor’s orders. He simply hobbled a little slower than usual with the aid of a crutch.

 Of course, even that would soon cease to be an obstacle, as the repair of the broken prosthetic had just been completed. Roadhog had somehow managed to convince Junkrat to wait in their room while he went to retrieve it from Torbjörn, despite his employer insisting that the dwarf couldn’t have rebuilt it to his satisfaction. The Enforcer held no such doubts, and thus found himself lumbering down the hall towards the engineer’s workshop.

 Torbjörn was busy pouring over some collection of parts that Roadhog wasn’t terribly familiar with when he walked in. There was no need to announce his presence, as one could hear his heavy footsteps from a mile away. The diminutive man looked up from his work as the large Junker approached.

 “I know, I know… Yer mouthy little friend is wondering what’s taking his leg so long, isn’t he?” Torbjörn preempted, hopping down from his stool to go digging under his workbench without anything in the way of prompting. He soon straightened up once more, clutching an amalgamate of parts that could have passed for Junkrat’s own handiwork if it hadn’t been so free of dirt and rust. He handed over the prosthetic leg for Roadhog to inspect.

 “I kept it all the same, just like he wanted. All I did was recast the parts in less brittle metal. That thing should last a lot longer than his old one,” he explained, puffing out his chest with pride at his work. “Actually – and don’t you go tellin’ anyone I said this – that design of his is pretty good, considering what he had to work with. It’s a shame, really. If he’d have grown up anywhere else, he might’ve become one hell of an engineer. A bit of a waste of talent, if ya ask me.”

 Roadhog merely gave a noncommittal grunt in response. Normally, he might have reacted a little more threateningly towards someone who spoke about Junkrat’s upbringing like that – or lack thereof, as the case may be – but he liked Torbjörn. He reminded him of a friend he used to have. Because of that, he merely mumbled his thanks and left the man to his work.

 When Roadhog returned to his room, he found it mercifully quieter than he expected. After a split second of mild panic that something might have happened to Junkrat, he was relieved to find that his companion was sprawled out across the bed, snoring lightly and fidgeting every now and then. The slender Junker probably wouldn’t have admitted it, but trying to wander around with just one leg and a crutch clearly exhausted the hell out of him. This would probably be Roadhog’s last chance to get a decent night’s sleep, now that he’d have his peg leg back.

 The Enforcer set the leg aside on one of the dressers before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He was about to reach up to remove his mask for the night when a burst of static had him jumping back up to his feet. He whipped around to stare at a wall-mounted video screen, the sudden static on which settled down to reveal a familiar skull-shaped logo.

 ‘¡Hola!’ came a familiar female voice through the speakers. Despite instantly knowing who it was that spoke to him, Roadhog didn’t dare relax. The two of them had worked with this hacker before – most notably when they broke into the bank in Dorado – but that didn’t make her particularly trustworthy. She, like most in her profession, worked for the highest bidder. They weren’t in that category right now.

 “What do you want, Sombra?” Roadhog rumbled out in a low voice, not wanting to wake his employer just yet.

 ‘Tsk, c’mon! Is that how you talk to an old friend?’ the hacker teased lightly, though she got no response beyond a low growl. “Alright, fine… I know you’re not much of a talker, so I’ll make this quick. You know how Vishkar have been poking around your friend’s head looking for info? Well, they weren’t the only ones watching. They’re systems aren’t as secure as they’d like to think. I gotta say, it was a good show.”

 Roadhog could do little more than let his fists ball up at his side. If he didn’t know Sombra was hundreds, if not thousands of miles away, he’d have hunted her down and wrung her neck. As it stood, all he could do was listen.

 ‘Anyway, Talon wanted me to track down your location while all that was going down. So, I did. Now they know where you are, so you might want to think about getting out of there. The sooner, the better.’

 “Why would you tell us that?” he asked, suddenly even more suspicious than before. For all he knew, this was just a trick to smoke them out. Sombra let out a small chuckle.

 ‘Well, I’d like to say it’s because I was flattered that Junkrat used one of my QR code viruses to escape the simulation – which I’m impressed he actually memorized, by the way – but we both know I’m not the sentimental type. If you really want to know, it’s because someone _else_ payed me to give you guys a heads up.’

 “Who the hell would do that?” he asked, unsure if he was more confused or unbelieving at the notion that someone out there would actually want to protect the two of them out of the kindness of their hearts. Junkrat and Roadhog weren’t exactly known for making good impressions on people, after all.

 ‘Sorry, you know I don’t reveal client information – well, not without a _price_ , anyway. All I can say is my client also wanted me to give you another warning; the next time Talon and Vishkar comes for you, they’re coming with back-up. They were apparently seen asking your old employer for help bringing you two in.’

 Roadhog’s eyes widened behind his mask when he heard that last bit. His old employer? She couldn’t mean… Not the _Queen!_ Sure, he didn’t leave the Enforcers on the best of terms with her, but surely she wouldn’t risk coming halfway around the world only to hand the two over to Talon. She had more pride than that. Besides, she’d want first crack at Junkrat, and that probably wouldn’t sit well with Vishkar. Of course, if the reward was high enough…

 ‘Look, I wish I could do more, I really do, but that’s all I was payed to give you. Good luck. I can’t wait to see where this goes. I’m sure you’ll make this one hell of a show.’

 With that, the screen flicked off, and Roadhog was left in near darkness. He stood there for a long moment, letting everything he’d just learned sink in. Talon knew where they were. What’s more, they knew they were currently under Overwatch’s protection, meaning this whole thing had put their unlikely protectors in danger as well. He scoffed to himself at that thought. What did he care if these so-called ‘heroes’ burned in their wake? They deserved what they got, just like the rest of the world. Of course, there were a few exceptions. That doctor who’d so vigilantly tended to Junkrat since the moment they’d arrived, and that little engineer… They were good people, as far as he was concerned.

 But there was nothing to be done about it. His primary concern was Junkrat’s safety, and if ensuring that meant leaving Overwatch holding the bag when Talon and the Queen’s forces came knocking, then so be it. That only left him with figuring out a place to run to. Luckily, he had an insane, brilliant man to borrow ideas from.

 “Hey…” he grunted out, reaching over a massive hand to shake his companion awake. Junkrat gave a startled yelp, instantly scrambling up to something of a sitting position, his eyes darting around the room on high alert. Eventually, he determined that there was no immediate danger and gazed up at his bodyguard for an explanation.

 “We gotta go,” was all the explanation he got, but it was also the only one he needed. He snatched his prosthetics off the dresser and immediately went to work readying himself for one of their infamous last-minute getaways.

 

* * *

 

 

 Tracer let out a big yawn as she wandered her way out of her room, clad only in an oversized Pachimari t-shirt that hung like a nightgown over her lanky form. She attempted to rub the sleep out of her eyes as she padded her way barefoot towards the kitchen. She could tell it was some ungodly hour of night, but her time-displaced body had felt the need to wake her anyway. Perhaps she should have Winston take a look at her chronal accelerator in the morning to see if he could fix that.

 She was about to turn into the kitchen when a distant sound distracted her. It sounded like heavy footsteps, the rattling of chains, and the occasional creak and bang of metal. She quirked an eyebrow. That could only be Roadhog, but what was he doing up at this hour? He’d usually be in his room to guard Junkrat as he slept.

 Curiosity getting the better of her, she flicked down the hall towards where the commotion was coming from. She soon found herself in the hangar, where Roadhog was busy loading some supplies into the sidecar of his motorcycle. The Enforcer had insisted someone go retrieve the old chopper from where he’d stashed it in Shanghai, and no one was in the mood to convince him to abandon the vehicle, so they did. The argument had been that letting him keep the thing would give him something to distract himself from any violent outlets, but right now it looked as though he was planning a getaway with it.

 Another glance around seemed to confirm that theory. Junkrat was currently over by the hangar doors, working quickly to connect an array of explosives to a single detonator. He was apparently in too much of a rush to figure out how to unlock the thing – or, more likely, he didn’t care to – and was planning on blowing the whole thing to scrap to get out.

 “Oi! What do you think you’re doing?!”

 The sudden intrusion was enough to make both of the Junkers stop what they were doing and turn to stare at her. Junkrat flashed her a manic grin, a burst of nervous laughter bubbling out of him.

 “Sorry, Sheila. It’s been a blast, but it’s about time we hit the road!”

 “B-but… What about Vishkar? And Talon? Aren’t they still after you? I thought you _wanted_ to be here! You know, so we could protect you from them!” she tried to reason, but their reply wasn’t in the form of logical debate. The next thing she knew, she had a large metal hook around her waist and was soon yanked through the air and into the death grip of Roadhog. She didn’t have any time to struggle before she saw a massive fist raised above her head, aiming to strike her clean in the face.

 “Not your problem anymore,” was the only explanation she was offered before a sledgehammer-like blow turned her world to darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to my usual apology for the long delay, I would also like to apologize for the awkward transition midway through this chapter, as I'd fallen into hiatus halfway through writing it and didn't know a good way to wrap up that scene after so long away.


	11. All the Queen's Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take this opportunity to remind everyone that the way I had Junkrat and Roadhog meet in this fic was written about a year before their canon meeting was revealed. I am staying with what I have written, so any reference to how long Junkrat and Roadhog have known each other is in reference to the origin story outlined here, not the canon one from the Wasted Land comic.

 Reaper glared up at the massive barrier of rusted steel that rose out of the dusty bushland, the harsh Australian sun just barely peeking over the edge of the reclaimed structure. His claws flexed just inches from where his shotguns were holstered under his jacket. He got the feeling that he wouldn’t be getting out of this god-forsaken place without a fight, whether he meant to start one or not. For once, he would prefer to have this done as quickly and cleanly as possible… not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed the opportunity to take out his pent-up aggression on a few of these insufferably obnoxious outlaws, but he was here on a specific mission.

 As he approached the gate, a porthole squeaked rustily open. There was a crackle of static before a gravelly voice addressed him over an old P.A. system.

 “Whaddaya want?”

 Straight to the point. Good.

 “I need a word with your boss,” Reaper rumbled in response. There was a pause during which he could feel the unseen gatekeeper sizing him up.

 “Leave yer weapons at the gate.”

 Reaper narrowed his eyes behind his mask at the order.

 “No,” was his flat reply.

 “Then ya ain’t getting’ in, mate!”

 And with that, the porthole slammed shut, leaving him standing there with only the desert wind to keep him company. A low growl rumbled in the wraith’s throat. Hard way it was, then.

 Reaper stared up towards the top of the city wall, focusing his attention on what he supposed was the most stable portion he could find. A miasma of black mist swirled around his feet before engulfing him entirely. The mist then dissipated, taking his disintegrated body with it, and snaked its way up towards the top of the wall. The black fog congealed on the spot he’d isolated before, and his imposing figure solidified once more.

 Reaper found himself staring down into the cauldron of the old Omnium, shabbily-dressed scavengers milling about the improvised streets. A cacophony of brash and colorful language rose up from both men and women alike, and at such a volume that they could be heard over the banging of metal from innumerable salvage shops. Watching all of this, it would be clear to anyone that this was Junkrat’s hometown, though these Junkers weren’t nearly as obnoxious as their infamous unofficial ambassador.

 Lucky for Reaper, the residents of Junkertown rarely had reason to watch for attacks from above. Why would they? The whole area was still a no-fly zone, one holdover from the town’s past as a warzone that no one was prepared to complain about. Because of this, the deadly mercenary was able to hop from point to precarious point without raising an alarm.

 He continued on through the ramshackle town unseen until he reached the former Omnium’s core at the heart of what the locals apparently called “the Scrapyard.” His ghostly form slithered over to the edge of the gargantuan hole in the top of the dome, wherefrom he could peer down into the heart of what served as Junkertown’s government.

 He spotted her almost immediately. She lounged in a makeshift throne that seemed to have been salvaged from an old Victorian-style armchair, one long leg hooked over one of the armrests in a bored, decidedly unfeminine way. She seemed to be doing her best to ignore the pudgy little old man before her, preferring to play with the end of her long red braid rather than listen to him prattle on about the upcoming events of the Scrapyard. Perhaps now would be the optimal time to ease Her Majesty’s boredom.

 The Reaper leaned forward and let himself fall from his perch, landing on the ground below in a burst of black smoke. By the time he reconstituted into his solid form once again, he found himself standing face to face with the Queen herself, a huge axe blade held just centimeters from his throat. A full second elapsed before the clatter of readying weapons sounded around them.

 Reaper and the Queen stared each other down for a tense moment, each sizing the other up. He was slightly annoyed that he had to look up to meet the woman’s intense gaze. They sure did grow them big in Junkertown. Must be something in the water.

 “Ya sure went to a lotta effort to make an entrance like that. Can’t help but wonder why.” The comment sounded conversational enough, but he easily detected the underlying demand.

 “My client sent me to deliver a message. He wants to make a deal with you,” the wraith hissed in reply, the added malice in his voice making it quite clear how much he resented having been reduced to being Vishkar’s glorified messenger boy. He wouldn’t have bothered at all if he wasn’t the only one available that didn’t fear Junkertown’s radiation.

 “Oh?” the Queen replied, clearly intrigued by language that hinted at money. She lowered her axe and motioned for her Enforcers to stand down as well.

 “Alright, Grim. Let’s hear it.”

 Reaper growled lightly at the giantess’ use of the diminutive nickname, but complied with her request nonetheless. He reached into a pouch on his belt, retrieving a small device that had the clear style of Vishkar’s sterile hard light construction. He placed the device on the rust-riddled floor before taking a step back. This instantly raised the suspicion of the Junkers. The Queen’s grip tightened around the handle of her axe, and he could hear her Enforcers taking aim with their guns once more. Rather than explode as the Junkers surely expected it would, the device instead spewed forth a thin pillar of light from the opening in the top. After a moment, the pillar of light scattered into the holographic image of Abhisara Vishkar.

 “Greetings, Your Highness,” the businessman began in his usual amicable manner, his voice crackling slightly due to the distance and local interference affecting the transmission. “I must apologize for this abrupt meeting, but I’m afraid what I must discuss with you is quite an urgent matter.”

 “Oh yeah?” the Queen scoffed, arching a thin brow at the man’s image. “And just what would a high and mighty Suit like you need a bunch of ‘savages’ like us for? Here I thought you rich cunts could just snap your fingers and get whatever you want.”

 Vishkar let the Queen’s clear distain for his social status roll off him like water off a duck’s back, responding to her little jab with a friendly chuckle.

 “As it happens, money can’t buy everything. It _can_ , however, buy people who can acquire just about anything, which is why I have come to you. I have discovered recently that you Junkers are quite the resourceful group. In fact, it is this very trait that has been vexing me of late.”

 “Uh huh. Yer after Junkrat, ain’t ya?” she replied without missing a beat. Vishkar bowed slightly to indicate that she had guessed correctly.

 “As perceptive as you are beautiful, I see.”

 In response to this, the Queen spat at the floor near his hologram projector.

 “Empty flattery only buys you a punch to the jaw. Ya wanna hire my boys? Ya better start talking numbers. Fair warning, though; it ain’t gonna come cheap, especially if yer wantin’ us to hunt down an annoying prick like Junkrat. I kicked that fucker out for a reason.”

 “I assure you, payment will not be an issue,” Vishkar responded, though all he got for his assurances was a hard, distrusting stare. He let out a sigh before continuing on.

 “Fifty million Australian dollars in gold at current market price for the safe retrieval of the target.”

 That number was enough to raise the Queen’s eyebrows. However, she didn’t agree just yet.

 “Define ‘safe.’”

 “I need him alive, as cognizant as possible, and preferably able to speak. Beyond that, you may do with him what you will.”

 This stipulation brought a smile to the Junker leader’s lips.

 “Alright, mate. Ya just bought yerself some mercenaries.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Bruce had been watching uneasily from the safety of one of the repair pits of the Scrapyard as the deal between the head of Vishkar and the Queen of Junkertown was brokered out in the main arena. He didn’t much care for the Suit or his hooded messenger boy purely on gut feeling alone, but that gut feeling was quickly vindicated when he heard who it was they were hunting. Junkrat… He knew the boy well. The lanky loudmouth had worked for him for years as a child, back before he’d traded his job as a lowly scavenger to pursue a life of crime.

 But it wasn’t Junkrat’s potential fate that had Bruce’s stomach tying itself into a nervous knot. Roadhog had been in the boy’s employ for over a decade now. The two of them had never been seen apart for nearly fifteen years, and the old engineer doubted that the arrangement would have fallen apart now of all times. If they were going after Junkrat, then they’d be after Roadhog as well.

 Losing a good scavenger was always a shame, but Bruce could get over such a loss without too much heartache. That was just the nature of the job. Mako, on the other hand… Mako was a friend. He’d fought side by side with the giant bruiser for the liberation of their homeland, a bond he hadn’t formed with any other living Junker. Old Mako was one tough bastard, but not even _he_ could single-handedly keep the Queen’s army at bay. He couldn’t let a friend go out like that.

 Bruce slipped out of the Scrapyard and made a bee-line for the main gate, trying his best to avoid the gaze of any of the Queen’s Enforcers he happened to cross paths with. There wasn’t anything particularly suspicious about him stepping out of town – though it was admittedly rare – but he was pretty sure the Queen wouldn’t be terribly pleased if she knew why he was going out there.

 Mako’s farm was just on the edge of the Junkertown outskirts, the last thing you passed before entering the barren, unforgiving wasteland that the Northern Territory had become. It hadn’t functioned as an actual farm since before the conflict between the A.L.F. and the Omnics. The fields produced nothing but dust, the livestock reduced to sun-bleached skeletons. It was a dead place befitting its owner.

 The small shack that Roadhog had gifted to Junkrat for use as a workshop was especially barren. An early attempt to loot the place after the two of them left had resulted in a few deaths, but once all of the traps were either disarmed or detonated, it had been more or less cleaned out. Roadhog’s barn had been spared for the most part, mostly due to the specter of his intimidating form looming in the mind of any who dared to approach the place. Bruce held no such superstition about the place. Besides, Mako had left him his key.

 He undid the massive padlock securing one of the smaller side doors, taking one last peek back over his shoulder before slipping inside. The air within was musky and stale from months of being uninhabited. Bruce stifled a cough and immediately had half a mind to open up all the doors and windows to air it out before its asthmatic owner returned. That could wait for another time, though. Mako wasn’t likely to return anytime soon, given the current circumstances. Besides, he had more pressing business to attend to.

 The old engineer set to work rummaging through the many drawers of Roadhog’s garage area, picking through tools and bomb components and bits of scrap. It was quite difficult trying to tell the difference between Roadhog’s and Junkrat’s stuff in all the jumbled mess, but he supposed it wouldn’t really matter if he could. What he was looking for could have belonged to either of them.

 Finally, wedged in the corner of one of the bottom-most drawers, he found it. It resembled a business card, though it clearly belonged to no Suit. It was made from a glossy purple material that seemed to emit its own glow, a pixel-style sugar skull design fixed in the center. The old engineer felt sick just thinking about how much it would cost him to enlist the elusive hacker’s help, but he had no other way to get a message out to Mako in time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Tracer let out a pained groan as she slowly regained consciousness. Her head was throbbing, her face felt like it had been split open. Her vision was blurry even as she attempted to get her wits about her. It took her a while to even notice that someone was talking to her.

 “Lena? Lena, can you hear me?”

 Finally, Tracer managed to force her eyes to focus, revealing a broad, dark face above her. Winston’s expression instantly shifted from panic to relief once she was able to focus on him. The gorilla moved to one side just enough to let Mercy attend to her injuries, but was otherwise glued to the plucky Brit’s side.

 “Thank goodness…” he breathed out in a sigh of relief, “I thought they’d _killed_ you!”

 “Uhh… Who?” Tracer replied, at first confused. She then took a look around her, and it all started coming back to her.

 She was in her pajamas, lying on the cold bare floor of the main hangar. The morning sunlight streamed in from where the main bay doors once stood, the smoldering remains of which lay scattered all around. If the chaotic destruction wasn’t enough to jog her memory, the distinct absence of a certain cobbled-together motorcycle certainly did the trick. She sat bolt upright despite both Mercy’s and Winston’s protests.

 “The _Junkers!_ ” she exclaimed urgently. “They’ve escaped! Or… they’ve taken off… Th-they’re _gone!_ ”

 “We know,” came the gruff reply from the Overwatch commander. Soldier 76 was nearby the Orca dropship, presumably inspecting its hull for damage from Junkrat’s explosives.

 “Shouldn’t we go after them? They’ll be exposed to attack from Talon out there on their own!”

 “Why should we?” came the semi-synthetic voice of Genji from somewhere over by the ruined hangar door. “ _They’re_ the ones who came to us for help in the first place. If they don’t want our protection anymore, why bother?”

 “Can’t say as I agree…” McCree retorted as he kicked at the rubble by the gaping hole in the wall. “Sure, those two can get into whatever trouble they want, but it’s Junkrat’s treasure we were really protectin’ by lettin’ them stay here. _That’s_ what we can’t let Talon or Vishkar get their hands on.”

 “Jesse’s right,” Soldier agreed, which seemed to physically shock the gunslinger. “What happens to those two idiots is still our concern so long as that ‘treasure’ of theirs is still unaccounted for. Gear up, team. We’re going after them.”

 “How are we going to manage that? They could be anywhere in Europe by the time we clear this mess and get the Orca out of here,” Winston said somewhat skeptically, though the commander didn’t seem too worried about that.

 “Just get it all ready to go as soon as you can. I’ll handle the destination.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Tracer couldn’t stop her leg from bouncing nervously as she stared down at her barely-touched dinner. She didn’t have much of an appetite, and not just because the gauze taped over her broken nose made eating anything a pain in the arse. What could have gotten into Junkrat and Roadhog all of a sudden to make them take off like that? Sure, there was that incident at the Grand Canyon, but if their faith in Overwatch’s ability to protect them had waivered after that, then surely Roadhog would have dragged Junkrat out of there the instant he’d been roused from his coma. Something had happened in the interim, but she couldn’t for the life of her figured out what.

 “How are you holding up?”

 Tracer jumped slightly as she was suddenly addressed out of nowhere. She glanced up to find Soldier 76 standing over her shoulder. The tone of his voice had lost some of its commanding edge, an unspoken invitation for her to speak freely with him, if only for the moment. She let herself relax as he sat down in the chair next to her.

 “I dunno, if I’m being honest… I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happened.”

 “Did you manage to talk to them at all before they took off? Did they give you any indication of why they left?”

 Tracer shook her head in response.

 “No, nothing. All they said was that they weren’t our problem anymore.”

 Soldier gave a small grunt of acknowledgement as he considered the new information. Tracer wasn’t too keen on letting him silently mull it over, though.

 “Any idea where they’ve gone? You mentioned before that you could find out by the time we head out.”

 The commander gave a small nod of his head, though he didn’t seem terribly happy about it.

 “I had Torbjörn put a tracking device on their motorcycle. I figured it would be in our best interest to track their movements even after all of this was over with. They’ve been heading east all day, making surprising progress considering they’re staying away from major highways and highly populated areas. They’ve nearly made it to the border of the Ukraine already. They know these roads surprisingly well, which is starting to concern me…”

 “Why would that concern you? Staying away from people seems pretty smart of them, given the circumstances. I wouldn’t be surprised if Roadhog planned out that route for that very reason. Besides, if we have a tracker on them, what does it matter where they go? We just have to wait until they stop and go get them.”

 “That’s just it. I don’t think they’ll stop until they reach their destination, and if they’re going where I think they’re going…”

 Tracer furrowed her brow, unsure of what he was trying to hint at. After a moment, he pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and unfolded it. It was a map of eastern Ukraine with an area near the border of Russia circled in red marker. The names were all in Cyrillic, but she knew just enough to sound them out in her head. Once she deciphered the name of the area that had been circled, she gasped so hard that she almost choked on it. Her eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets in utter horror, and she stood up so abruptly that she knocked over her chair.

 “Bloody hell! You can’t be serious!” she squeaked out, “They’re going to _Chernobyl?!_ ”


	12. From Chernobyl With Love

 Roadhog’s motorcycle rattled unhappily as it rumbled to a stop in the snow just outside one of innumerable abandoned buildings lining Pripyat’s crumbling streets. Even in the frigid late-winter air, his bike couldn’t handle the pace he’d set on their mad dash out of Switzerland. It couldn’t be helped. They had to get to safety as soon as possible, and he would run his precious chopper into the ground if that’s what it took to keep Junkrat safe. Speaking of whom…

 He reached over and ripped off the tarp that he’d strapped over the sidecar, an action that earned him an almost girlish scream from his passenger. Junkrat scrambled to try and snatch the tarp back, but he wasn’t quick enough. Instead, all he could do was huddle down into the relative shelter of his sidecar and wrap his arms around his bare torso to hold onto as much body heat as physically possible.

 “ _H-hooley dooley!_ It’s colder’n a penguin’s dick out here! Why’s this hemisphere gotta be all backwards and have winter in February?! It ain’t natural, I tell ya!”

 Roadhog merely rolled his eyes behind his mask and proceeded to unload what little they had brought with them. Junkrat soon stopped his bitching long enough to get out and help by kicking down the door of the building they’d parked next to. He then hobbled over to a broken-down crate and dug out a threadbare canvas jacket that was probably older than he was. He shrugged the jacket on over his shoulders, relieved at what little protection from the cold it offered. With that taken care of, the lanky Junker turned to other comforts.

 An old faded jukebox sat against a nearby wall, the glass face lying shattered on the ground in front of it. Junkrat gave the machine a good punch, at which point it turned on and began to play. Rather that the Soviet-era patriotic songs that the jukebox’s catalogue suggested it contained, the familiar tunes of a pilfered Men at Work record began to play instead. The song had just barely changed off “Land Down Under” by the time Roadhog had come inside from hiding the motorcycle. The ex-Enforcer shook off the dusting of snow that had accumulated on his shoulders before joining his charge. He lumbered into the dining area of what was once some sort of communal cafeteria for the workers of Chernobyl and their families before the disaster, settling himself down into a rickety old chair that groaned under his weight, threatening to give out on him. He didn’t really care at the moment. He was just glad to finally be off the road.

 “Man, what a ride! Been a while since we crossed a whole continent in a day. I’m bushed!” Junkrat exclaimed as he flopped himself across a row of chairs, lounging on them as if they were some sort of hammock. Roadhog found himself rolling his eyes at his companion once more. _He_ was the one that had done all the driving, Junkrat had just hunkered down in his sidecar the entire time. The little fucker probably even slept half the journey. However, he would fully admit that it had been an exhausting ride, and thus had no energy to argue about it.

 “Oi, Hog…” Junkrat started up again soon enough, though in a slightly more subdued tone. Not much, mind you, but it was enough of a shift to hint to Roadhog that he was genuinely worried. “You think anyone followed us? I mean, I made sure those Overwatch drongos couldn’t tail us, but what about all the rest of them? For fuck’s sake, they even recruited the bloody _Queen!_ You sure they can’t find us out here?”

  Roadhog could only respond with a gruff sigh. The younger man’s concerns were valid ones. In fact, they were the same questions he’d been troubled with during their day-long trip. The Chernobyl Exclusion Zone had always been their last resort hideout, a sanctuary they could escape to should the civilized world prove too dangerous for them. Normally, even if they were followed, their pursuers always ended up fearing the radiation too much to trail them in. But now? Now they had other Junkers hunting them, the only other people on Earth too crazy not to follow after them in there.

 The ex-Enforcer glanced down at Junkrat again, meeting the gaze of a pair of hazel eyes that were staring at him expecting an answer. God, that had to be the most terrifying look anyone had given him. He knew the younger man expected him to assure him that everything was going to be okay, that they would be safe out there. The problem was Roadhog wasn’t sure he could honestly promise all of that. Still, he couldn’t just say nothing.

 “Quit freaking out. I’m not gonna let them get you.”

 

* * *

 

 

  Tracer couldn’t remember the last time she was this nervous before a mission. It was no great mystery why, of course. She – along with all of Overwatch’s members that were willing to come along on the mission – were currently sitting in the Orca on their way to one of the most infamous nuclear disaster sites on the planet. No one on the dropship spoke during the flight, which only served to increase the already thick tension in the air. Of course, the clear plastic masks they all wore to protect them from the radiation would have probably made it difficult to carry on a conversation.

 The silence was finally broken when Athena’s voice came on over the speakers.

 “Now entering Ukraine air space. Arriving in Chernobyl in twenty minutes.”

 Tracer drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a shuddering sigh. This was it. There was no turning back now. She took this opportunity to double-check all of her equipment, making sure there were no leaks in her rad suit. Mercy had assured them that the special jumpsuits she had them wear could stand up even in the rough conditions of heavy combat, but she wasn’t too keen on pushing it to the limits. Besides, if all went to plan, they wouldn’t have to test the suits out in combat. Then again, when did anything ever go to plan for Overwatch?

 Just as she thought that, the dropship suddenly lurched forward in a massive increase in speed. Tracer let out a yelp as she was pressed into her seat, the g-forces reminding her of her days as a test pilot. Before anyone had the chance to question it, the onboard speakers crackled to life once more. Instead of Athena’s synthetic voice, however, it was Ray, the Orca’s quiet and thankless pilot, that addressed them.

 “Sorry about that, folks, but it looks like we’re gonna have to bump up our arrival time a bit. Our little fieldtrip’s just turned into a race.”

  Tracer zipped over to the window of the dropship door, pressing her face against the glass to peer outside. She spotted it immediately; the familiar black gunship of Talon, followed by two unmarked ships that were clearly of hard light construction. Her heart sank at the sight. How in the hell did they manage to find the Junkers so quickly?! Could they have some sort of tracker on them as well? No, if that were the case, they’d have been after the two outlaws long before Overwatch finally got into the air. Unfortunately, the only other explanation was far more disturbing; they must be able to track the Orca.

 “Dammit!” Soldier 76 growled aloud, clearly having come to the same conclusion as Tracer. “That bastard let us lead him right to them! Everyone, at the ready! We won’t have much time to secure the area before they catch up!”

 

* * *

 

 

 Roadhog sat outside under the rusted awning of the building, puffs of fog wafting from his mask filters as he watched the powdery snow float down from the sky. He didn’t have a jacket like Junkrat had, but he felt it was worth braving the cold to keep watch. Despite his best efforts, he felt he had failed to adequately cover their tracks. He could smell the danger on the wind, but he had no idea what he could do about it. There was nowhere left to run. All he could do was stand and fight until the bitter end.

 And bitter it would surely be. After everything he’d been through, all of the fighting, all of that desperate effort just to survive, this would be how he died; a worn out old criminal who’d failed once again to protect the most precious thing in his life. Well, if this really was his last stand, then the least he could do was drag as many people down to Hell with him as he fell.

 It seemed his opportunity to do so was fast approaching. The serene silence was broken by the low hum of hover engines, pulling Roadhog’s eyes upward. Through the haze of the falling snow he saw the silhouette of a large dropship, though he couldn’t tell who it belonged to. Honestly, it didn’t really matter. Regardless of whether it was Talon or Overwatch, it didn’t change the fact that they’d been found already. Roadhog cursed under his breath as he hefted himself up off the ground, not bothering to brush the snow from his clothes before rushing inside.

 

* * *

 

 

 Reaper leapt out of the black gunship, landing with a crunch on the snow-packed streets of Chernobyl. He stared up towards the sky, watching as the Orca continued no towards the north.  As expected, Overwatch was headed towards Pripyat. That was fine. He didn’t want to deal with the hassle of fighting them for a parking spot on top of everything else. Luckily, they’d brought along a solution to the distance problem.

 The two accompanying dropships touched down on either side of the Talon gunship. The large doors fell open, letting loose a twenty-strong squadron of fearless outlaws. The Queen was the first to jump out, shivering lightly as the frigid air hit her skin.

 “Fuck’s sake, why’d those two idiots come all the way out to this godforsaken place? I’m gonna freeze me tits off out here!”

 “This gonna be a problem?” Reaper hissed out. He would be rather annoyed to have come all this way just to have the Junkers chicken out because of the cold.

 “Nah, she’ll be right. We’ll be plenty warm once we get the blood pumpin’ a bit. They’re just north, yeah?”

 The wraith replied with a nod, to which the Junker Queen gave a grin that was uncomfortably reminiscent of their main target.

 “Alright, boys!” she began, raising her voice to address the gathering of Junker Enforcers behind her. “Saddle up and get ready to bust some skulls! The only one ya can’t kill is Junkrat!”

 The response to her order was a raucous explosion of adrenaline and petrol. The Enforcers whooped in excitement, the engines of their cobbled-together dirt bikes roaring to life. The Queen herself hopped onto her own motorcycle and led the charge to the north.

 

* * *

 

 

 Tracer could feel her skin crawling already as the Orca lowered itself down in the woods on the outskirts of Pripyat. She knew she wouldn’t be able to feel it if she was exposed to the radiation that purveyed the area, but that didn’t stop her paranoid mind from playing tricks on her. The dropship itself seemed to shudder as it touched down on the snowy, untamed land. Before the door could open, however, Ray came on over the speakers once more.

 “I’m seeing a lot of movement coming from the south. I’ve gotten us as close as I can to the targets, but you guys better book it if you want to beat Talon to them.”

 Soldier 76 gave a nod, hitting the release switch for the door. As the door opened and the chill winter air rushed in, the commander turned to the rest of his team.

 “Alright, you all know the mission: get in, grab the Junkers, get out. If they’re uncooperative, use whatever means necessary to retrieve them. Junkrat is your top priority. If you can only grab him, do it and get out. Everything else is secondary.”

 With that, Soldier 76 led the way out into the radiation-tainted landscape. Tracer dashed out just behind, easily blinking up to the front of the pack. She knew full well that she was the only one fast enough to get there in time, and she wasn’t about to let her fear slow her down. She only hoped that she would be enough.

 

* * *

 

 

 Roadhog stood on the edge of the ruined street, his Scrapgun loaded and ready in one hand, his hook gleaming menacingly in the other. Junkrat was set up further back, ducked behind a concrete barrier from where he could safely lob his grenades. He could hear the loose rattle of the younger man’s prosthetic limbs as he shivered, though whether it was from the cold or in anticipation of the coming battle, Roadhog couldn’t tell. A glance back at his charge was met by the intensely focused gaze of a pair of bright hazel eyes. Even Junkrat knew that this was the end of the road. As grateful as he was to see his eccentric employer taking the matter so seriously, it struck him as intensely wrong seeing such a deathly grave look on his face.

 Roadhog’s attention snapped back to the road ahead when the faint rumble of a pack of motorcycles faded in from the distance. He knew the sound well. The Queen was coming, and it sounded as though she had about four other bikes carrying her Enforcers following behind. He knew the formation they were in just by listening to how the engine sounds played off one another. They’d be rushing through, aiming to do as much drive-by damage as possible on their first pass, then coming back around to finish the job. It was a strategy right out of the Enforcer’s playbook, most of which he wrote himself.

 “Jamie,” he called out softly, the thundering deepness of his voice carrying it through the air despite his almost-whispering, “You remember the plan, right?”

 Junkrat seemed to hesitate a moment before replying, peeking over the edge of his concrete barrier.

 “S-sure thing, mate! Everything’s in place and ready to blow!”

 The fact that he was willing to joke around about the situation was little comfort, especially with the panic-ridden laugh that followed. Roadhog let out a bitter sigh.

 “Good. Go.”

 “ _Wh-what?!_ ” Junkrat squeaked out in utter horror, “B-but they ain’t even _here_ yet! I thought that plan was only in case you couldn’t—“

 “Just do as I say,” Roadhog interrupted, never turning to look back at his companion.

 “But—“

 “I said go! _Now!_ ”

 Junkrat let out a yelp at the thunderous roar that cut him off once more. He stared for a moment at his bodyguard’s broad back, ignoring the small fleet of bikes emerging over the horizon past him. He could feel his chest growing tight, his breaths coming out in quick, panicked puffs. No, he couldn’t just leave! Not yet! They could still stand and fight!

 Yet, even though he couldn’t see Roadhog’s face, his body language spoke volumes. The slope of his shoulders, the way he held his weapons… He was expecting to die here. What little heat his body still held onto seemed to drain from him in that instant. This was it, wasn’t it? This was where it all came to an end. It didn’t seem fair. Roadhog had fought so hard to keep him safe, how could he just leave him there to fight on his own? How could he possibly go on without the big lug at his side?

 Of course, Junkrat knew better than most just how unfair life could be. There was nothing he could do about the current situation other than doing as he was told. After one last longing look back at his bodyguard, he finally left the safety of his concrete barrier and sprinted around to the side of the building where they’d stashed their motorcycle. He ripped off the tarp covering it and vaulted into the saddle. Sitting there in Roadhog’s spot felt so wrong, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The engine roared to life, spurred on as he operated the gas pedal added specially for him to be operated with his peg leg. He twisted the throttle, the rear wheel spinning for a moment in the snow before it found traction and rocketed forward, away from where his dearest friend stayed back to fight.

 

* * *

 

 

 Roadhog let out a sigh when he finally heard the rumble of his chopper’s engine start to grow more distant. This was the last thing he could do for his young charge, and he prayed to whatever god would listen that it would be enough.

 He kept his prayers short, his attention soon returning to the danger fast approaching from ahead. Five motorcycles of the same salvaged construction as his own came barreling down the road towards him, each carrying a Junker Enforcer brandishing chains and clubs and other such weapons. Central among them was the Queen herself, her massive axe held effortlessly in one hand. Roadhog’s finger tightened around the trigger of his Scrapgun, his hand squeezing at the handle of his hook. He was ready for them. He wasn’t sure if he could keep them all at bay, but he sure as shit would make their life hell.

 The attacking group drew ever nearer, yet Roadhog didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. He stood still as a statue even after the Queen and her Enforcers got close enough for him to see the battle-hungry looks on their faces. If his plan were to work, he had to wait for the perfect moment.

 Finally, over the deafening roar of the five motorcycles just meters in front of him, a roar greater still exploded into life behind him. He watched as the Enforcers’ expressions shifted to that of utter shock as a huge yellow chopper vaulted into the air from somewhere behind Roadhog. All eyes were averted skyward as a mad cackle erupted from the driver of the bike.

 “ _Surprise, fucksticks!!_ ” Junkrat cackled as the Enforcers broke rank in a panic, each swerving wildly to avoid being crushed by the renegade Junkers’ vehicle. He landed with a rattling thud, zooming off towards Chernobyl before his pursuers could recover.

 “After him, you daft cunts!” the Queen bellowed out, pivoting her own bike around to give chase once more. However, the words had hardly left her lips before a ball of scrap whizzed past her head to bury itself into the skull of one of her men. The poor fuck’s body hardly had time to fall to the ground before she felt herself being yanked backwards off her bike.

 She barely managed to get her feet under her in time to avoid the massive fist aimed for her head. She ducked under the blow, swinging her axe to slash upwards at her attacker. Roadhog was not so swift, but he managed to back away just enough to receive only a glancing blow across his stomach. It would probably screw up his tattoo a bit, but it wouldn’t kill him. He was able to bring his Scrapgun up to bear before the Queen could get another strike in. The only thing stopping him from firing then and there was the blade of her axe held at his throat.

 “This has been a long time coming, Mako,” she began, staring down the gaping barrel aimed at her face as though it were nothing, “I dunno how that annoying little shitstain ever roped you into all this. You used to be the best damn Enforcer Junkertown ever had. Why throw that all away for some broken git like him?”

 Roadhog stared down into the fierce eyes of his former boss, listening silently she made what he was sure would be the only chance she’d give him to end things peacefully. He probably would have rebuked the offer on principle, not being the type to take the pacifist route. Now, however, he had a slightly more substantial answer than a blunt “fuck you.”

 “Because broken gits like us deserve each other,” came his rumbling reply before he finally squeezed the trigger.


End file.
